#really nice and welcome perspective shift

[girltomboy]

The Torturous Tortured Poets Department - a 2/10 album

I finally listened to this slop knowing full well it would be beyond excruciating to try and sit through all the 31 "songs" on it, and all my expectations were confirmed. That lady can't do anything!

So I want to mention that only the first 10-ish songs are actually listenable, the rest of it is the same repetitive monotone slop that's ever present on her past ~4 releases (not including the re-recorded greedleases).

Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) - flat song, Post Malone fits well on it, but it doesn't have a peak, just goes straight into nowhere. I kind of forgot most of it because it feels like I've been trying to get through this tar pit of an album for a whole day. Forgettable is a good description for it.

The Tortured Poets Department - fake deep, heavily influenced by pretentious clichees, we can tell she had a fling with the racist from The 1975 because it made her even more annoying. Also forgettable.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys - this one was better, has a bit of personality to it, some rhythm too, one of the only decent songs if you pay little attention to the lyrics.

Down Bad - the swearing makes it funny, lackluster production, quite flat, verbose & empty. I don't think she understands what "down bad" means.

So Long, London - the same as the previous one, empty production, verbose, flat singing, filler song.

But Daddy I Love Him - I feel compelled to point out she used a comma for the previous title, but not here. This one sounds a little bit like her older stuff, probably because of the lyrics. Still too wordy, and the production is too boring in contrast with her voice and the lyrics, a problem that's prevalent on most of her recent releases.

Fresh Out The Slammer - another song loaded with flat singing and lackluster production. A lot of these songs have long periods of silence, not drops or rests like in most other songs where it sounds nice, just straight up long silences.

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + The Machine) - stripped back production here and there very unnecessarily. Florence held back a lot, there's barely any singing, of course, to match her little song companion. It's barely a song, really, incohesive and peakless. The build-up, if you can call it that, is sudden and short and leads nowhere. Their voices also don't complement each other well at all.

Guilty as Sin? - this sounds a lot like many of her other songs with boring and empty productions. No peak or anything to make it stand out, just percussion and plain vocals with thesaurus lyrics.

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me - silence again; this one is at least richer in sounds. The lyrics are too edgy, reminiscent of Karma. There's a rhythm, but the random pauses kill all the momentum. Corny, high school lyrics.

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - these long, cheesy titles are tiring me out. Production copied + pasted from the other songs. No peak, no singing, no music. It could have been an interlude with fewer words. Too many dog allegories for her boyfriends on this album.

loml - another empty ballad with many words and nothing said. Lullaby song, really boring, repetitive, bad lyrics.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart - some build up only to sound like a monkey with cymbals song. Really corny lyrics and the same lackluster production.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - this is where the album, already pretty bad so far, takes a down turn and becomes the most unbearable collection of slop I've ever sat through since her Folklore/Evermore days. Those were peak unbearable, this was just disappointing and exhausting. One piano note for each syllable, bland production again, nothing song. Verbose and sleepy.

The Alchemy - I have already listened to this song 10 times on this album so far. It sounds like Halsey and would have probably been better with a trap instrumental rather than this silent 2014 nonsense.

Clara Bow - the same boring slop over and over. She's talking too much, not singing enough, and the elevator music just makes it exhausting. Nothing new, just recycled lyrics over the same bland production.

The Black Dog - here I was kinda starting to get pissed off. Not music. She really made the same song 20 times and said "yeah, it's an album. Release it." Wow my ears hurt.

imgonnagetyouback - Repetitive, heard it before, zero production. Some rhythm, but the backing vocals and empty melody kill it. Silence again.

The Albatross - a little more interesting, something to hear finally. But unfortunately it's just a mellow guitar song, so the novelty doesn't last long into it, since it's just as bland as her previous ones, it just puts you to sleep with different instruments.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus - no intro whatsoever, just a plain piano like the practice of a beginner child, repetitive singing, lullaby song. Nothing distinctive, the same stripped back production, drags on forever.

How Did It End? - piano ballad, boring, sleepy, thesaurus lyrics, repetitive, and yet it's not the worst one so far. But we're probably past that point.

So High School - is that... an instrument? Oh, because she "feels high school" (we know, we've heard the lyrics) she made a pop rock sounding song. She barely sings on it, though, so all the momentum is once again suffocated. A breath of fresh air to hear something a little bit different from the dead slime I've been wading through, and this is hardly a compliment for this song. Also, she CANNOT sing.

I Hate It Here - slow guitar song again stuffed with repetitive verbosity to the point where you can't tell what's going on with the production. But it's okay, because nothing is ever going on. Skipped through 2/3 of it.

thanK you aIMee - boring, repetitive nothing. Barely any singing again, every song sounds like she wanted an excuse to speak into a microphone in a monotone semblance of a melody that goes nowhere.

I Look In People's Windows - a song filled with silence again, absolutely zero production, skipped over 2/3 again.

The Prophecy - nothing song, too much singing - sorry, monotone speaking. Zero melody, skipping through it I land on the same plain low note every time.

Cassandra - silence song again, nonexistent production, verbose, stands out with nothing.

Peter - another ballad I can't get through. At least this one has some structure, but again too much aimless verbosity. Skipped the last minute.

The Bolter - how is this not the same auditory sludge I've been listening to for the last 2 hours? Lazy guitars, and boring production. Bland melody, monotone singing.

Robin - sounds the same as 20 other songs, the slow singing makes it even more painful. This song has NOTHING to redeem it. There's silence again and extremely monotone melody with barely any singing. Should have been an interlude, skipped half of it.

The Manuscript - another nothing song, I actually couldn't sit through more than 10 seconds. The only redeeming quality of it is that there's no more songs coming after it.

Overall this album is incohesive, full of incoherent monotone yapping. Her vocals are atrocious, I don't even want to go into that, the excruciatingly boring production was bad enough on its own. Luckily she barely tried to sing at all, every song was almost the same recycled flat note over an aimless elevator melody. However, the best part of it is that it's finally over. Special thanks to the people who provided the piracy link and made this unnecessarily long post possible. 🙏 Without you the world would be nothing.

[judebellswife]

First Glimpse - Jude Bellingham

— REQUEST status OPEN

— pairing • jude bellingham x fem!reader

— summary • In Jude Bellingham’s much-anticipated documentary series, fans are given an intimate look into the football star’s life, with a special feature introducing his long-time girlfriend—you. Known for keeping a low profile despite dating one of football’s brightest stars, this marks your first public appearance. During a heartwarming interview, you open up about how you and Jude met, even though you already knew who he was, and how you never expected to become his girlfriend. The episode includes candid moments with Jude’s family, particularly his parents and younger brother, Jobe, with a special Thanksgiving Eve gathering where you all share laughter, love, and togetherness. Through your eyes, fans get to see a more personal side of Jude and his close-knit family.

— warnings • none :)

— note • i’ve got like 7-8 request about to write a one-shot with reader featuring in one of jude’s document series. so here it is, i hope you enjoy, happy reading!!

The camera focuses in on a familiar setting for those who follow Jude Bellingham’s career: the cozy, welcoming living room of the Bellingham family home. The walls are adorned with family photos, mementos from Jude’s rise in football, and hints of his personality—trophies and framed jerseys alongside warm family portraits.

But today, the focus is on you. You sit on the sofa, the soft cushions surrounding you as the camera captures your slight nervousness. A small, warm smile crosses your face, and you shift in your seat, unused to the spotlight.

A voice from behind the camera breaks the silence. The interviewer. “So, this is your first time on camera. How are you feeling?”

You chuckle, glancing off-screen for a moment as if looking for support before turning back. “Yeah, it’s definitely new for me. I’m more of a private person, so this is... different, but I’m excited to be part of this.”

There’s an understanding laugh from the interviewer. “For everyone watching, could you introduce yourself?”

You nod and give a small wave. “Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Jude’s girlfriend, and, um... yeah, I’m usually not in front of the camera, so this is a bit out of my comfort zone,” you say, your voice laced with both nerves and humor.

The interviewer continues smoothly, keeping the tone light. “So, let’s jump into the good stuff. How did you and Jude meet?”

You pause for a moment, your eyes softening as you think back to the day. “Well, I actually knew who Jude was,” you begin with a smile. “I mean, he’s Jude Bellingham. Anyone who follows football knows who he is. But I never imagined I’d actually end up dating him. That wasn’t even on my radar.”

The camera cuts to a shot of Jude laughing in an earlier part of the documentary, as if he’s recounting the same story, though from his perspective. His grin is wide, and there’s a glint in his eyes that shows how much he enjoys this memory.

You continue, your voice a little more relaxed now as you find your rhythm. “We met through mutual friends at a small gathering. I’d seen him play on TV and heard about him through the grapevine, but when we met in person, he was just... Jude. Not the football star. Just this really laid-back, funny guy.”

“So, did you know right away that you liked him?” the interviewer asks, intrigued.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not at all. I was definitely attracted to him—he’s handsome, obviously—but I didn’t expect anything more than just a friendly conversation that night. I thought it’d be a ‘Hey, nice to meet you,’ and that’d be it.”

There’s a brief pause, and the interviewer presses gently. “So what changed?”

You smile, eyes twinkling with the memory. “Jude changed. We ended up talking the whole night. It was so easy with him, and I realized he wasn’t just this football prodigy everyone sees on the pitch. He’s so much more. Kind, funny, and really grounded. But it was his persistence that surprised me the most. After that night, he didn’t just let it end there. He reached out, wanted to spend time with me, and honestly? I couldn’t resist his charm.”

The camera switches to a series of candid clips, showing you and Jude out and about—him pulling faces to make you laugh, you playfully pushing him away before being pulled into a hug. It’s the kind of chemistry that makes it clear this relationship runs deep, full of mutual adoration and comfort.

“So, how long have you two been together now?” the interviewer asks off-screen.

You think for a second, tilting your head slightly as you calculate. “A little over two years now. Time flies, honestly. It’s been an incredible ride.”

“And what’s it been like, dating someone as high-profile as Jude?”

You take a deep breath, nodding. “It’s definitely been an adjustment. At first, it was a bit overwhelming, especially with how much attention he gets. But we had a conversation early on about keeping our relationship private, at least until we were ready. Jude’s been really protective of that—he’s always made sure I feel comfortable, and I love that about him. But I also understand that he’s a public figure, and being with him means that sometimes, I’ll be seen too. This,” you gesture around at the cameras, “is one of those times.”

The camera cuts to another moment—this time, Jude and you are walking through a park, your hands loosely clasped together. He swings your arm playfully, then stops to pull you into his side, whispering something in your ear that makes you laugh. It’s easy, intimate, and full of warmth.

“Speaking of being seen,” the interviewer continues, “how does it feel to finally share a bit of your relationship with the world?”

You laugh softly. “It’s exciting, I guess. People have always been curious, but I’ve been pretty firm about staying out of the spotlight. I’m not someone who thrives on attention like Jude does. But it’s nice to be able to show this part of his life. People know him as the footballer, but they don’t really see the person behind all of that. I’m happy to share a little bit of what we have, because it’s special.”

The camera pans across the Bellingham household, warm and inviting with the sounds of family chatter filling the air. Thanksgiving Eve at the Bellingham’s is a full house. Jude’s dad, Mark, is in the living room, laughing loudly with Jobe and Jude as they discuss football, while his mom, Denise, is in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepares the family meal.

The lens of the camera focuses on you for a moment. You’re helping Denise chop vegetables, your hands moving a little slower than hers but with focus, and you share a comfortable conversation. A nervous laugh escapes you as you attempt to cut the vegetables to her standard.

“Are you sure I’m doing this right?” you ask, holding up an unevenly chopped carrot with a teasing smile. “It doesn’t look quite like yours.”

Denise glances over and laughs softly, reaching out to gently touch your arm in reassurance. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re doing just fine,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “Trust me, my first Thanksgiving wasn’t perfect either. And honestly, even if it’s a bit wonky, it’s still going to taste amazing.”

Her words, her tone—there’s something deeply maternal in the way Denise speaks to you. It’s as if you’re already a part of the family, not just Jude’s girlfriend, but someone she holds close to her heart. You smile at her gratefully, feeling that familiar warmth whenever you’re around her.

Denise’s attention turns fully to you now, setting down her wooden spoon and wiping her hands on a towel before stepping closer. “You know,” she begins, her voice soft and kind, “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. You’re such a big part of Jude’s life, but you’ve also become such an important part of ours too.”

You look at her, slightly taken aback by the depth of her words. Your heart swells in your chest, not expecting the surge of emotion. “That means the world to me, Denise,” you say, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’ve always felt so welcomed here. You and Mark, and even Jobe—you’ve all made me feel like part of the family from day one.”

Denise steps forward, enveloping you in a gentle but tight hug, the kind that only a mother could give. “That’s because you are family,” she whispers against your shoulder. “We love you like one of our own.”

You close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to sink into her embrace, feeling a wave of comfort wash over you. In this family, you’ve found something special—something you didn’t expect to have when you first started dating Jude. It’s not just a relationship with him; it’s a bond with the people who raised him, who made him the person you love so deeply.

As you pull away, Denise gives you a warm smile, her eyes soft with affection. “Jude’s a lucky man,” she says, glancing toward the living room where Jude is seated. “But then again, I think we’re all lucky to have you around.”

You chuckle softly, still holding onto the warm feeling in your chest. “I’m the lucky one. Jude’s incredible, and you’ve all been nothing but wonderful.”

Denise’s eyes twinkle as she leans in conspiratorially. “He’s a handful sometimes, though, isn’t he?”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “Oh, definitely. But I love him all the more for it.”

Denise shakes her head, her smile growing wider. “Good, because he needs someone like you to keep him in check.”

There’s a shared understanding between the two of you, the kind that goes beyond words. Denise pats your hand and returns to stirring the pot, the air between you filled with warmth and affection. It’s a small moment, but one that fills your heart, making you realize just how deeply connected you’ve become to Jude’s family.

The scene transitions to the dining room, where the entire family is gathered around the table. Mark is telling a story, his booming laugh punctuating the conversation as Jobe makes a playful remark. Jude sits beside you, his arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder as he smiles and laughs along with his family.

“Jobe, pass the bread,” Jude says, reaching across the table with a grin.

Jobe rolls his eyes dramatically but tosses the basket of bread to his brother. “There you go, Mr. Superstar.”

You nudge Jude with your elbow as he catches the bread. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t start charging for autographs at family dinners.”

Jude grins, leaning in closer to you. “Oh, I’d give you an autograph for free,” he teases, his voice low and playful.

You roll your eyes but smile, and as Jude reaches for his plate, Denise catches your eye from across the table. She gives you a wink, as if to say, See what I mean? A handful.

The love and ease that fills the room is palpable. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. This family has welcomed you, loved you, and made you one of their own, and tonight is a perfect reflection of that.

The camera lingers on the scene—Jude’s hand resting on your shoulder, Denise watching her sons with pride, and you laughing along with them, fully immersed in the warmth of their family dynamic.

As the evening winds down, and dessert is served, Jude’s dad, Mark, stands up, raising a glass. “I think we all know what I’m about to say,” he begins with a grin. “But this Thanksgiving, I just want to take a moment to say how grateful we all are. Grateful for family, for good health, and, of course, for the wonderful woman who’s come into our lives and made our son the happiest he’s ever been.”

You blink, taken aback by the sudden toast, your eyes glancing around the table. Denise smiles warmly at you, her eyes filled with affection, and Jude leans closer, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze under the table.

“To Y/N,” Mark says, raising his glass higher. “Welcome to the family. Officially.”

There’s a soft murmur of agreement as everyone raises their glasses, and you feel your throat tighten with emotion. It’s not just words—it’s a promise. A declaration that you belong here, with them.

As everyone takes a sip, Jude leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “I told you they love you.”

You turn to him, your heart full. “And I love them.”

The camera captures the final moments of the evening—the plates scattered with crumbs, the soft murmur of conversation as everyone winds down, and the love that fills the room. The bond between you and Jude has always been special, but tonight, it’s clear that your relationship extends beyond just the two of you. You’ve found a home with his family, and they’ve found a place in your heart.

As the screen fades to black, the soft hum of background music plays, leaving the viewers with a sense of warmth and love, the credits rolling as the final glimpse of your story is shared with the world.

[primejourney]

Hello world!

I’ve been wanting to get back to drawing daily, and having fallen in the SubMas fandom rabbit hole recently, I was excited to learn about the Sept-Ingo challenge! I’m excited to use this as a way to practice, but also to see what areas I could focus on practicing. 

I worked hard all Labor Day weekend on this one for the prompt “BATTLE”. It depicts Ingo and Emmet during their time as depot agents. (I suppose it could be a bit more Ingo centric! But it just didn’t feel right without Emmet there!). 

Critique is always welcome! I tried to mess around with foreshortening, something I’ve never really tried before (I haven’t practiced anatomy very much either!). I know it needs improvement, but I have to say I am proud of what I’ve accomplished — it’s so nice to create a finished work again!! 

(also...sorry for posting so late @monthofingo ..! i draw very slowly ;D;)

More about my inspiration under the cut

I was inspired by @maniacwatchestheworld post about how the brothers’ Klinklangs were most likely their starters! I adore Chandelure and Elektross as much as the next SubMas fan, but I think these two deserve some more love! They represent Ingo and Emmet’s battling synchronicity and bond very well! I like to think they used them a lot in their time as depot agents before they became masters. 

I took inspiration from the idea of the two Pokémon having Plus and Minus as abilities! You might notice the two klangs look a little different from each other. ;)

I originally wanted to include a speech bubble with an attack name or cool phrase, but I couldn’t squeeze one in…and I couldn’t think of one. I’d love to hear if you guys have any ideas of what they might be saying. :D (I entertained "Gear Shift!" but technically, only one of them knows that move, lol).

p.s. if anyone has tips on how to draw their silly hats in perspective i would be eternally indebted to you ;D:)

[bairdthereader]

Let's have some tea with the Nelsons.

One of my favorite little throughlines in Heartstopper is the making of tea as a gesture of comfort, welcome, or care in the Nelson household.

---

The first time we ever see Nick in his kitchen is after Charlie leaves on their snow day. Sarah is already at her customary place at the table with a cup of tea at her elbow, and Nick is gazing contemplatively into the middle distance while waiting for the kettle to boil. You get the sense that this is a well-worn routine in the Nelson home, and that Nick and Sarah have created a deeply loving and understanding relationship over many past mugs of tea at this table. As Nick prepares his tea, Sarah begins talking about Charlie: how nice he is, how different to Nick’s other friends, how Nick seems more himself around Charlie. As Nick takes his first sip of tea, you can see his perspective on his friendship with Charlie shift just a tad, a new, lovely facet revealed. Charlie helps Nick be his true self, and that, Nick realizes, makes him content.

When Sarah comes home to a troubled Nick—notably, waiting at the table where big discussions happen—trying to work through the love triangle he's somehow found himself in, she listens and offers her usual Sarah Nelson style of lovingly straightforward advice. You can see that Nick is at least somewhat comforted by this clear-eyed approach to the problem with Imogen; it confirms what he already knows deep down. And then, unaware of Nick’s changed relationship with Charlie, she says, "The right girl will come along" . . . and Nick dies inside just a little. But, she's getting two mugs out of the cabinet, so at least there will be tea.

After Nick’s day at the seaside with Charlie, he comes home very ‘smiley,’ having settled a lot of big things with Charlie and within his own mind. In an almost mirrored setup to the snow day tea, Sarah is having a cup at the table, and Nick heads over to the kettle to start making a mug for himself. While he waits for the kettle to boil (a good time for rumination if ever there was one), he remembers his words to Charlie: he wants to start telling people. He screws up his courage and sits down with Sarah to have the bravest conversation he’s ever had to have with her. And in that place of safety and comfort, over nurturing and calming mugs of tea, Nick shares this most important part of himself with his mother, and Sarah surrounds her son with accepting love.

Of course, we have this really satisfying interesting moment when David is initially denied tea because of his rudeness. Sarah’s quietly bolstering Nick while putting David in his place just a bit. She’s saying, you can only be part of this ritual if you honor the care and safety that is the hallmark of the Nelson home. (And we all know David is incapable of that.)

When Charlie sneaks out to visit Nick after his rough day, they relax in Nick’s room; Charlie, typically, falls asleep. When he wakes up, Nick offers dinner, which Charlie declines, asking for tea instead. This one’s hard, because we know that in this moment tea is Charlie’s way of getting around food and all of its challenging implications for him. Nick doesn’t know that, though, so he responds with joking affection, “You’re such an old man.” (Giving you the side-eye here Nick, since you drink more tea than anyone else in this show.) Nonetheless, he goes to make Charlie’s tea, a small gesture of care, and of intimacy in the sense that Nick knows how Charlie takes his tea and will be sure to fix it that way. That this lovely, domestically caring moment is interrupted by David’s cruelty is crushing. Those cups of tea will go cold on Nick’s bedside table.

After what is easily one of the most stressful evenings they’ve both experienced, Nick is recovering in bed while Charlie makes tea. Nick and Charlie need some time in a safe and comforting place to recuperate; not just Nick from physical illness, but both of them from the social pressures and challenges of the party in the woods. This overhead shot of Charlie stirring the tea is one of my favorites. Those three mugs in a row symbolize how Nick, Sarah, and Charlie all care for and support each other. Charlie may be a relative newcomer, but Sarah loves him already, and she has enveloped him in the safety of both her person and her home. Charlie clearly appreciates and cares for her in return. So even though he’s making this tea for a tired and ill Nick, he’s also caring for and thanking Sarah in this small way. And she returns the gesture with one of her own: validating words. “Nick's so lucky to have you.”

Tara and Darcy have just been through hell on a night that was supposed to be very special to both of them for a lot of reasons. The Nelson house becomes a safe harbor where they have time to be alone, with supportive and dear friends nearby, to discuss at long last the problems that have been plaguing their relationship all summer. It’s an incredibly challenging, honest, raw conversation, but Tara is patient and understanding, and Darcy is vulnerable, and they land on solid ground at the end. When the Paris squad sees that they are happily dancing together, they come to offer their additional love and support. Understanding that this is a time when comfort and closeness is needed, Nick does what Nelsons do: he offers tea.

Bonus: Tea at the Nelsons respresents Nick developing wider, deeper, more authentic friendships, as teatime progresses from a family-only affair, to a family + Charlie affair, to a Paris Squad affair. 💕

Honorable mentions go to . . .

Tea at Tao's, to help with hard truths:

Hot cocoa at Charlie's, with excessive marshmallows to bribe your friends into letting your secret boyfriend come to your birthday party:

AND

Every single teacher needs tea to get through this day (maybe there's a dash of whiskey in those mugs) . . .

Except this guy, who is clearly a sociopath:

[ginnyw-potter-archive]

James Sirius's first Halloween

“Happy Halloween!” one of the Aurors of the night shift wished them as he entered the department.

“Yeah, you too,” Ron said half-heartedly as he gently attempted to lead Harry out into the hallway.

They walked in silence, the excitement of the holiday reaching neither of them. Ron paused in front of the fireplaces and turned to Harry. “I’d ask you out for drinks tonight, but I bet you’d rather go home.”

“Yeah, need to check on Jamesy,” he said with a small smile. “But thanks.”

“He better not grow until Sunday,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “Tell him, no growing until Uncle Ron sees him again.”

Harry chuckled. “I will. Goodnight.”

Ron waved goodbye as he stepped into a fireplace. Harry quickly got into a fireplace too before someone had another chance to wish him a happy Halloween.

Seconds later he arrived in the living room of his home. The noise of the fireplace roaring had announced him, and Ginny walked into the living room to greet him.

He was alright, really. But the moment he saw her his shoulders slumped, and his face pulled into a deep frown. Tears prickled behind his eyes, but he blinked them away.

She was in front of him immediately, pulling him into a welcome hug. “I told you to take the day off.”

His arms wrapped gratefully around his wife. “I’m fine.”

She hummed and didn’t argue, continuing to hold him until he let go first. She met his eyes.

“How’s our kiddo?”

Ginny smiled, kissing his lips. “About to be awake from his nap.” She stepped away from him and pointed her wand at the fireplace, making the flames flare up into a cosy fire. “Do you want to go to the graveyard tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” He looked at her as if she would have the answer.

“James hasn’t been there since right after he was born, I thought it could be nice,” she said, her expression soft and compassionate.

He nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He looked at her. “Fred after?”

“Mum will insist regardless,” she supplied.

Harry turned his head when he heard the baby’s cry.

“Your son is awake,” she said. “Go on. I’ll get started on dinner.”

Harry couldn’t hide the fact he was eager to hold his son. Becoming a parent himself had given a new perspective on his parents’ deaths and it was at the front of his mind tonight. He walked into the kitchen with the baby still crying—James was clearly hungry—and his gaze fell on Ginny.

In the small pause his son gave him by catching his breath, Harry spoke. “Now we have a kid of our own, it seems so much more cruel. They were younger than we are now. Their lives were barely getting started, just had a baby... they didn’t get a chance to live.”

Ginny nodded silently, setting the knifes to work chopping up vegetables. A pot filled itself at the tap and then landed on the stove, which she switched on. She walked to him.

“I have been thinking of that too,” Ginny said, caressing his hair. “It really wasn’t fair. I can’t imagine leaving James,” –Her eyes flitted to their son and filled with worry—“But I know I’d give my life for him in a heartbeat.”

“Me too,” he agreed. He offered James to her. “He needs feeding. He’s very upset with me.”

Ginny took the baby into her arms easily. “That feels like five minutes ago, but I suppose if you’re hungry...” She settled down on a chair to feed him.

Harry kept an eye on the food, putting the sausage into the pan before turning back to Ginny.

“You know,” she continued. “Nothing is going to happen. Not tonight.” She looked up from James to meet his eyes. Her look was determined.

He didn’t want to admit the fear that had settled in his gut. He was so grateful he didn’t need to explain. He stepped to her and placed a kiss on her hair. “I know, because you’re with me.”

She let out a small chuckle, her focus returning to James. “Your Auror dad relies on his wife for safety, isn’t he silly? Yes, he is!”

Harry’s smile widened and he continued looking at them, reluctant to let them out of his sight. Only when Ginny said she smelled something burning, did he turn back to the stove.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The One Day Return of Double Black

(A/N: I intitailly panned for this to be a relationship reveal but it turned out softer, as many of my writing has lately. I don't mind it though. Also this is my very first time ever writing in 3rd person so please forgive me if it sounds whack as hell. This fic isn't entirley isn't entirely in 3rd person, but I wanted to try out a new style of writing,  so let me know if you like it.)

(4,846 words)

Third Person Perspective:

He walks with a purpose, angry that his partner left for work without him. Isn’t it much more efficient if they come in together? After all, they’re work partners so no one would ever suspect the rings resting under Chuuya's glove and Dazai’s shirt, on a chain that holds it suspended right over his heart.

The route to the headquarters is twisting turns through dark back streets, but Dazai remembers it with perfect clarity as if it were yesterday. To him, it was.

—

Even after all this time not much had changed. The Port Mafia still cower under the gaze of Dazai Osamu. If anything they’re more afraid now. And why shouldn’t they be, he is the only person in history to betray the mafia and walk away alive.

The guards are so scared they hardly pay attention to the way the Demon prodigy’s gaze isn’t as sharp as usual, eyes glazed over, or that his unbrushed hair sticks to his forehead with sweat.

Even if they were to notice, it would go uncommented on because that’s the privilege of being the Demon Prodigy.

So no one says anything when he walks through the lobby of the Mori Corporation, black dress shoes still shiny as the day they last set foot here, clicking evenly as he heads for the lift.

The guards will not radio about his presence to their superiors because they are cowards, too afraid of being punished for letting him in. They will not stop him either, too afraid of being punished if he is truly supposed to be here. They are too afraid of him. The torture master, who seems to have regained sight in his other eye. “How terrifying,” they think, “must he be with full sight instead of half.”

The torture master doesn’t stop to think that it’s strange that his old lift code still works, because right now he doesn’t remember just how old it is, the heat coursing through his body erasing the past four years of conflict.

He stares at his reflection. His suit is still pressed, not a wrinkle visible because it’s been untouched. To anyone else, the garment would have been long outgrown but years of only occasional meals of low-calorie food have allowed him to remain the same size and weight as when he was only a boy.

He does not think he is eighteen again, but maybe he wishes he was. For him, time has passed in a sort of mixed and matched fashion, a quilt of mind and muscle memories. His mind, for the movement at least, exists in a world where things are the same as they’ve always been. And when the lift door opens, he needs only to walk down the corridor, into the meeting room (his biometrics will still work) and his executive seat will be waiting for him (it is) just as it was yesterday. He has no idea that, while he would be welcome, his striding into that room would cause a commotion. To him, this is simply another day.

“Maybe I’ll blow off the meeting, and just bother Slug instead, he did leave without me after all.” The prodigy hums as he thinks to himself.

The lift opens to an empty corridor, the boy’s illusion is safe for now.

Chuuya comes first, before everything. He heads down the opposite end of the corridor, to give his lover a piece of his mind.

Chuuya’s Perspective

The weekly meeting was cancelled, and I hardly have any paperwork so I’d say this counts as a good morning. Maybe Mori-san will ask me to take Elise out for ice cream or something. I don’t mind her, when she’s away from him she’s really a nice kid. I won’t dwell too much on the fact that she’s been a kid the entire time I’ve known her, maybe her ability has something to do with shape-shifting.

(A/N: Chuuya likes to be with Elise because it makes him feel tall.)

The door slams open. It’s not the noise that makes me drop my pen, but the person standing in my doorway.

“Ne Chibi! You horrible ungrateful slug, you left me at home! Honestly, you’re so disrespectful. You made me late, I should report you to Mori-san, but I won't because I’m such a good partner, not like you.” 

And suddenly . . .

He’s 16 again. 

A teenager in demeanour but a man in physique, and I’d be lying by omission if I failed to mention how he looks in that suit. The whole situation takes my breath away, proof that love trumps logic when my first thoughts on his sudden appearance here are thirsty ones and not concern.

It makes me a bit sick to think that he’s still skinny enough to fit into something he wore when he was eighteen.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” That's what I want to say, but Dazai’s realm is logic, shifting the pieces from the background. Brute force won’t get me anywhere, it only makes him curl defensively into himself, like a porcupine.

“First of all, you’re the ungrateful one, you brat! You’re the one that sleeps until ungodly hours of the morning. I left you breakfast, did you want a note or something? I’m not your mother!”

He crosses his arms, stepping closer to my desk. I don’t stop him, “Breakfast was absolutely terrible, like everything else you cook, and you still left me—”

I want to laugh, we both know my cooking is exquisite, but there’s something more upsetting about what he said. “Wait, you didn’t drive here, did you?”

“How else was I supposed to get to work when you LEFT ME!” he emphasises the last two words, hopping up to sit on the edge of my desk. I sit on my hands so I don't end up shoving him out of the window.

“I can’t believe you! How many property damage fees do we owe now? Never mind, don't answer that. God! You’re giving me a headache already. And stop going on about how I left you, this isn’t bringing your fish to work day. Why are you even here at all? If you bothered to drive, why didn’t you go to work?”

“I did. I’m here, aren’t I? I could’ve ditched, but nooo, I came in just for you, hatrack.”

“You know you don’t work here anymore, dumbass.” It’s a joke, we both know it. This is just something Osamu would do, come back and act like everything is normal just to psych me out. I always swear not to let his antics phase me but something about him today is ‘off ’. It’s already driving me insane how I can’t put my finger on it.

“Yes I do, I always have, does Chibi have amnesia or did he just finally run out of memory storage in that small brain of his?” He tugs on my hat and I reach out to punch him but he sinks down before I can.

“My brain is just the same size as yours. You don’t work here, and if you think you do then you’re the one with mental problems, not me!”

“Ah, my dog is so mean to me! Bad dog! Bad dog!”

“I’m not your fucking dog you sleazy bastard.”

“Big words coming from a chibikko hatrack.” He remarks, shrugging casually.

These words finally make me pause. As much as we still love sniping at each other, many of these nicknames are hardly ever used anymore, ones we save for times when we both need the nostalgia. Hatrack. I haven’t heard that one in forever, and despite the jeering nature, it sends a flood of warmth through me.

Is that what he’s here for? The nostalgia of it all? Is this what he wants? 

I scrutinise his face for any trace of his motives, taking in every detail. He’s a glorious enigma. His jet-black hair is matted, a snarl that still manages to look fluffy. There’s something stiff about the way it frames his face as if stuck on by glue.

His eyes are bright, a different kind of bright than when he usually teases me, or the soft aura they get when it’s just us alone at home. Normally when he teases me his irises maintain that darkness, almost black, eating all light that enters them, but now they almost appear chocolate brown, reflecting the light. Glossy, sparkling with a shine like the surface of the ocean under the summer sun. It’s disconcerting, wrong, like when he smiles just a little too wide. I don’t dislike it, but I know it isn’t right.

He hasn’t shaved in a while and there’s stubble forming around his jaw, the dark contrasting with his pale features, too pale, the barely visible bags of his eyes making his eyes look far too big.

If nostalgia is what he wants then I’d be happy to give it to him, but I don’t think it is. This is something beyond either of our control.

Shit.

Great, this is just great! What am I gonna do with him now?

“Is Chibi going to apologise to me, or will he be sleeping on the sofa tonight?”

I step closer. I know what’s wrong, but I’ll need to touch him to be sure.

We’re so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his coat certainly isn’t helping. I run at a higher temperature because of Arahabaki, so if I can feel it, it’s bad. He needs a doctor fast, but he’s so stubborn . . . how can I make him come willingly?

“I’m sorry I left you, Osa. You just looked so peaceful sleeping, I couldn’t wake you.” I whisper the words, standing on my tip-toes, leaning forward, closing the small gap between us.

It’s true, with his insomnia being how it is a full night's sleep is rare and when he does get it I let him sleep for as long as he possibly can. I think his colleagues think he sleeps late but most of the time he’s laying in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to get up or trying another method of suicide he found on some sketchy webpage with r-rated pop-up ads.

When my lips meet his I gasp, he tries to deepen the kiss and put his tongue in my mouth. I don’t let him. He responds by pulling the long piece of my hair. I pull away, still grasping his shoulders. I’d been expecting warmth but not like this. Holding him is like holding a flame, his skin feeling like he’s been outside for hours in the summer heat. 

“Fuck! Shit! Dammit, Osa! You’re burning up.”

He just laughs, “So Chibi does think I’m hot, I knew it!” he grins in triumph, of course, he would be laughing with a temperature like this, “You earned your way back to the bed–”

“Actually, I will be sleeping on the sofa, I have no intention of catching whatever you have. We need to get you to the infirmary, Mori-san will have something for you.”

I grab his hand and pull him out the door. I should be worried about people seeing him, but they won’t hurt him. And should they try I won’t let them. I hold Osamu’s burning hand all the way to the lift. How he’s still even functioning, much less standing with a fever like this makes me think he really isn’t human.

The infirmary is only one floor below us, just below the training room, but the training room takes up the space of three floors and the lift isn’t going nearly fast enough for my liking, so I use my ability to drop it.

I thank god for Osamu’s awareness and that he doesn’t cling to me for support and risk cancelling my ability.

When we reach the right floor I release the lift from For The Tainted Sorrow, it clunks loudly to a stop.

The infirmary takes up this entire floor, you might think we’d need multiple floors for enough space, and we do, but this is the so-named special infirmary. (Some of us call it the Meat Locker, behind Mori-san’s back because it’s always so cold.) Mori-san works here when he’s not busy planning strategy. This facility is for the top mafia operatives and is thus equipped to handle ability users and ability-related injuries. The grunts and foot soldiers use the larger infirmary lower in the building.

I set Osamu on the nearest bed and go to find a nurse. The nurses must be in between shifts, but I find Elise. She’s wearing a small nurse’s uniform, hat and all. When I was first told she worked in here I was extremely sceptical but her medical knowledge is as vast as Mori-san and she’s never made a mistake in treating a wound. (This backs up my theory that she’s not actually a child, but an adult who likes to shapeshift into child form, for whatever reason.)

(A/N: HC that Elise possesses all the same basic skills that Mori-san has, like she can do surgery and she could drive but it’s a bit hard for her to reach the pedals and see over the dash. Also in this fic, Chuuya doesn't know Elise is Mori-san’s ability.)

Elise greets me, “You’re here with Osamu aren’t you?”

“How-”

“It’s the look on your face, only he can bring that worry and desperation out in you. What’s happened to him, another attempt?”

“No, he has a fever.”

Elise glares and rolls her eyes, “A fever, seriously!”

“Come on, Elise, you know I wouldn’t have brought him here if it wasn’t bad, and it’s bad.”

“True. Does he have any other symptoms?”

“No, but he’s delirious, he thinks he still works here.”

“Oh, I’m sure Rintarou loves that.” Her dry humour at the expense of Mori-san always amuses me, but I don't laugh now.

“He doesn’t know yet.”

“Are you hiding Osamu?”

“No, he just marched in here as far as I can tell, but I didn’t get a chance to tell Mori-san yet. I figured I’d do it when he’s not dying.”

Elise shrugs, “Fair.”

We’re at Osamu’s bed now, and I can see what he so easily hides from everyone else. He’s starting to wear, the fever finally taking its toll, still, he looks much better than he should and it creeps me out a bit.

Elise feels his forehead, but unlike me, maintains her composure simply nodding and pulling out a thermometer. He doesn’t let Elise stick the thermometer in his ear, so I do it, while she disappears into the medication store room.

After too long, the device beeps.

39.4℃

How is he even . . .? Right, he’s Dazai, of course, he’s fine. The damn cockroach!

Elise is back, pushing a cart with a glass pitcher, a stack of fabric, and medication, which Osamu takes only after I give him a stern look.

Elise takes a stack of fabric, white clothes, and lays them on the bed.

“Fevers like this are dangerous, he’ll need to stay hydrated.” She sets the pitcher on the table beside the bed, “This is mineral water, make sure he drinks all of it, and when it’s empty fill it up again, they’re bottles in the fridge in the store room. If he starts showing any more symptoms let me know, but unless something changes, he should be okay to go home tonight.”

I nod, dumping my coat and hat into the bed next to us, and pouring some water into the glass cup, holding it carefully out to my husband. He doesn’t take it.

“You can get changed first, but then you have to drink water, okay.”

He nods.

I hand him the stack of clothes and pull the curtain around the bed.

When he doesn’t stand I begin pulling off his trench coat. He sits up a bit, allowing me to remove the heavy garment, then flops back down, I sigh and let my finger trace his collarbone while I untie his tie, he leans into the contact, more alert now. I ignore how my warm touch feeling cool to him isn’t a good thing in favour of unbuttoning his shirt.

Now all that’s left are his bandages.

They’re stuck to his skin with sweat but eventually, I peel them all off, his pale fevered skin glowing sickly under the fluorescent lights.

A cool shower or bath would be ideal but I settle for wetting a towel under the sink and patting him down gently with it. He leans into my touch and for just a second I think he’s fallen asleep but then his eyes blink open so fast it makes me jump a little. Swatting his bare arm, I help him put on the soft white pants and a loose white t-shirt.

He still doesn’t touch his water.

I hold it out to him, “You gotta drink, Osa, having a fever like this isn’t good for you, we need to get it down. Then we can go home and watch whatever shitty movies you like.”

He shakes his head.

“Osamu!”

He’s staring at me like he's drinking in every aspect of my being like I did for him in my office.

“I like it when Chuuya is my partner.” He finally says.

“I’ll always be your partner, you silly fish. Forever remember, we promised.” I take off my glove, showing him the ring, a shining metal thing. Two bands of stainless steel with azure sapphires running a line in between them.

Osamu takes out his own ring, two iron bands, with blood-red rubies in between, and rolls it in his palms, not saying anything.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean it like this.” He gestures to the infirmary around us but I still don’t understand.

“I like being Chuuya’s work partner,” he explains, looking more alert now, the medication must be working. “I like it, knowing that everything is still the same, being here and knowing I belong.”

Oh. “You’ll always belong here.”

“Maybe so, but I could never ignore Oda’s last wish like that. I’m already remembering, and I know that once I stop having a temperature everything will go back to normal. But I want . . . I want to stay here with you, hatrack, in this time capsule, just a bit longer.”

Softness and tender love may be what he needs, but it’s not what he wants. Well, then I’ll play along. I don’t mind at all. If he wants to be sixteen again, who am I to deny him that? I’ll love and care for him in the same burning way I did back then.

I sigh, sitting up straighter, leaning away from him, removing any trace of softness from my voice and getting into character. “Hmph! Of course, a mackerel like you would want to stay here longer! I thought you hated pain. And, don’t give me those eyes, I’m not gonna do your paperwork for you.”

He smiles that goofy smile, understanding what I’m doing, not at all offended by my harsh tone.

“Ah, but dogs are supposed to be loyal, and I’m sooo dreadfully ill!” He flops back dramatically

The next line comes easily, “I am not your damn dog!”

We fall back into the teenage banter embarrassingly easily as he goes on about how his greater height makes him the master. It feels like only yesterday that I was in the arcade, choosing to follow him instead of Shirase and Yuan, as I shove a cup of the mineral water towards him, splashing his face. 16-year-old me wouldn’t have reached for a towel to dry his face, so I don’t either. It’s probably okay since he still has a fever.

“Just shut up and drink, you mummified fish!”

He dips his finger in the cup and flicks water at me.

“Dammit, shitty Dazai! Drink it and drown for all I care.”

He takes a slow sip, then another, downing the cup in seconds, his following of my command the only thing shattering the illusion. It makes me laugh how I still call him Dazai when I tease him, even though he hasn’t had that surname in years. I think he’ll always be Dazai, on some level.

-

The day passes surprisingly quickly. With the help of the medication, cool clothes and water, Osamu’s temperature steadily returns to normal.

I tell him about the upcoming mission Mori-san has for ‘us’ and we complain about it. I hear Elise’s chime-like laughter from the store room. Even with his head foggy he offers strategies that make me wish he would still sit at the executive table.

I complain to him about how Mori-san is probably going to make me do paperwork on this incident, and he replies that it’s my own fault because I shouldn’t have left without him, and could have just left him in my office. “But you didn’t, because Chibikko cares about me~~~” he sing-songs.

“In your fucking dreams maybe!” The denial sounds so false on my lips that we both burst out laughing. His eyes are clear again, the haze of fever gone, he doesn't think he’s my work partner anymore, but neither of us stops the banter.

-

After a while though, the sun begins to slip lower and lower in the sky. I take Osamu’s temperature, it’s normal. The pretending is officially over.

“You're all better, Osa. As soon as Elise clears you, we can go home.” I let the softness return to my voice.

I expected him to be disappointed, but he smiles softly, tucking his hair behind his ear in that pretty way he does. Sometimes we both yearn for the nostalgia of simpler times, but we both know that what we have now, between us and only us, is a million times better.

I’ll miss this, but I won’t miss the old port mafia dorm or Osamu’s shipping container. I won’t miss when we didn’t have our own home, the place that is ours. A place we don’t have to hide. I won’t miss the time before I wore a metal ring under my glove. 

I do miss our large king bed, open plan kitchen, luxurious sofa, and our spacious shower.

My stomach rumbles, “God, I’m fucking starving.”

Osamu pats his own stomach, and we remember neither of us had lunch. For some reason, it seems like the funniest thing. We can’t stop laughing for a full minute.

I sigh, catching my breath. “Do you feel well enough to eat? We have leftovers in the fridge, or I can make okayu.”

“Hmm, I know it’s late, but I’m restless from lying down all day, we should go out somewhere?”

I give him a once over. He looks fine. “Yeah, sure. How about that old ramen and sushi place, you know, near–”

“The arcade, yeah.” he finishes my sentence.

“I’ll go get Elise.” Before I can get up there's the sound of even steps on the tile floor.

“Chuuya-san, Dazai-kun, I’ve been meaning to come check on you two.” Mori’s voice and silhouette are familiar, even in the dark infirmary.

“Mori-san.” I nod to my boss. If he’s surprised to see Osamu here he doesn't show it.

“Oh, you can drop the formalities for now, and don’t worry, I’m not here about your paperwork, I gave you the day off as soon as Elise informed me of the situation. Thank you for visiting our fine establishment today, Dazai-kun, I’m glad you’re back to full health. Please know you’re welcome back anytime you like.”

With that, he walks off. Most of the time I laugh when Mori asks Osamu to come back. He won’t force him back and even then Osamu would find a way not to come if he didn’t want to. After today though, I find myself wishing Osamu would accept. We were such a good team, and we still are. But I respect his wanting to stay in the light for Oda, and I can be more than content with having him be mine all mine outside of work.

Elise feels Osamu’s forehead, taking his temperature one last time, and declares him cleared.

I smile as she leaves, we both do.

He looks at his clothes scattered on the floor.

“Those are all sweaty, you shouldn’t wear them. And no bandages either, you can put them back on at home, after you’ve had a shower.”

He gives me puppy eyes, “Fine. Would a dog lend his master some of his clothes?”

“Fuck no!”

“Ugh, not the ones you’re wearing . . . though I would like to see you naked.”

I smack him lightly on his head.

He shrugs, “Can’t I be honest with my husband? But only I get to see Chibi naked, you can keep your clothes. I know you keep spare stuff in your office in case you have to work overnight.”

I roll my eyes and pull him up, grabbing his clothes and my own coat and hat.

-

He looks at home in my office, lounging on the sofa looking as if he never left, as if I woke up and came back in here realising that his betrayal was merely a dream. 

But I know he never left me, not really.

The clothes I keep in my drawer are for all sorts of emergencies.

A copy of my usual work outfit in case it gets bloody or something.

Pyjamas if I have to sleep here

A formal suit for the dinners we executives have to attend with Port mafia associates.

Some old casual clothes if I have a stake-out mission

And a nice but not fancy outfit for when I have a date with Osamu and I’m not able to stop at home to get ready first.

I take pieces from each of the last three outfits for Osamu, already laughing as I picture how short the sleeves and trousers will be on him. It’s his fault that his arms and legs are so ridiculously long.

I hand him the clothes and he seems to be thinking the same thing (we often are). His face morphs into a look of teasing disgust. “Ewwww! I have to wear Chuuya’s tacky clothes.”

But he gives no protest as I help him undress. Thankfully the suit is new enough that I hadn't hemmed the slacks yet, and because he’s so skinny the waistband shouldn’t be a problem.

Taking inspiration I decided to go for something more casual myself.

-

The outfit is mismatched but when I stand back it all somehow fits. Frustratingly, he’s managing to pull off the white tee shirt, black slacks, and red hoodie.

I wear a black tee shirt, an old worn pair of jeans and a blue Yokohama Tigers bomber jacket.

He laughs, holding me just off the ground, “We match.”

“Yeah, Now let me go, I’m hungry!”

I stuff our clothes in a paper bag I have left over from my last trip to the wine shop and we’re off.

-

I’d almost forgotten about it but the weight that comes off my shoulders when I see that Osamu’s car is miraculously unscathed is immense.

I drive this time, while Osamu stretches himself out in the backseat, singing loudly along to the music on the radio.

-

The sleek car will stick out on this side of town so I park in an alleyway.

“You good to walk the rest of the way?”

“Yup.”

People stare at us as we walk. I don’t blame them, I’m sure I look like some kind of punk high schooler and then there's Osamu with his dress trousers and shoes with a hoodie.

It makes me feel fifteen again, people used to stare at us then too.

The ramen joint is run by a small gang, but they don’t interfere with us so we leave them alone. The owner still shakes in fear when we enter, wondering what business I could have with him.

“We’re just here for the food,” I say, not paying him a glance as I take two menus from the counter. He sighs in relief.

-

The food takes a bit longer than usual, but I swear it’s twice as delicious. I think they must still be worried about my business here.

Osamu and I eat wordlessly, the food is too good to be uninterrupted by any conversation. When we’re together we don’t need words anyway, and when we’re done we both stare out the window. We can see the bright lights of the arcade from here, one of the only and brightest lights around, a beacon in the night.

Osamu looks at me, I look at him. There’s a certain glimmer in his eyes, the one I used to crave like it was life itself before I knew he returned my feelings. I can see the shine in my own eyes reflected in his.

I take a wad of cash out of my wallet and drop it on the table, the waitress looks at us with wide eyes as we leave. I say nothing but Osamu waves goodbye to the owner like a little kid, the gleam in his eyes only intensifying.

The sun has completely disappeared from sight now, and we should go home and go to bed like responsible adults, especially after the day Osamu’s had. But it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last so what’s a little disregard for personal health for old-time’s sake?

[in-kyblogs]

https://www.tumblr.com/in-kyblogs/757740911415508992/need-to-know-more-about-italian-lestat-and-why-is this answers is amazing and i didn’t expect it at all so!!! thank you so much 😍 it would be so nice if the show explored the things you said about how ‘italian’ was actually kind of a wall built by his mother to keep him at a distance. it’s sad. but very interesting. we could’ve had so much… we still can 😭

You’re welcome and thank you so much, I’m glad you liked my all over the place meta🫶

I think the italian cultural barrier specifically is more something that I picked up noticing how, as you said in the ask, Lestat really has no characteristics that you can link to his Italian heritage. I mean, it could simply be because Anne Rice didn’t know much about the culture, but still it is a really interesting aspect to think about in an in-universe perspective. It plays into the larger theme of the distant mother/violent father childhood trauma that Lestat has got going on, so really interesting in a character analysis way.

I am so excited about everything about Gabrielle and Gabrielle related stuff from tvl! I really think that we will get so much!

(I will talk minor book spoilers, if you mind them you can stop reading here)

The show did amazing things with the parent/child relationship in season 1, with Louis and Claudia’s theme of entitlement of a parent on a child’s life and Louis’s resentment when Claudia tries to build a separate life for herself and also with Lestat’s theme of ownership over Claudia having made her and them hating each other and loving each other for how similar they are. I think with these writers we’ll have amazing stuff with Gabrielle and Lestat relationship, as it is an ever richer source material to expand upon. I mean, she has a piece of dialogue about giving birth with Lestat after the wolfkilling stuff that was so visceral and honest, but also so brutal to say to a son, and also so so important to me as a young woman in this current political climate. (I don’t know how much you know about the political situation in Italy but yeah it’s bad -as in women should be mothers, abortion is against Jesus bad-).

I’ll stop about book content as to not spoil it for you, but that scene is really amazing and if you want to know more I’m excited to talk about it. Also I really recommend reading The Vampire Lestat before season 3 airs, you can read it without reading iwtv first and it gives a lot of insight on Lestat, Armand and the way the relationship with Gabrielle informs the later relationship Lestat has with Louis. It is a really beautiful piece of literature with some hilarious shifts in tone and Lestat is a really captivating narrator

[ejzah]

I never really liked Callen's response when Densi's relationship was finally outed. Instead of being happy for them he just said, don't pretend like you didn't know the risks. Way to be supportive Callen. Could you maybe write a fanfic where he apologizes to Deeks, but also assures everyone is happy for Densi.

A/N: Hi anon, I might not have gone as hard on Callen as you might have liked. I hope this is ok though.

***

Mixed Reactions

Kensi left before Deeks, deciding to go to her apartment and order takeout for both of them. He’d had one more report to submit, which took longer than usual as he thought over everything that happened. From getting spied on during their morning workout, to Hetty telling them to separate for the day, to her final big reveal that he had an open IA investigation against him.

While he was packing up, Callen walked in, texting one handed. He paused when he saw Deeks, then continued on to his own desk.

“You’re here late,” he commented.

“One of my monthly LAPD reports was due,” Deeks explained. He straightened a few items on his desk, the antithesis of Kensi’s trinket covered space, leaving just a cup of pens, a file holder, and his nameplate. He could sense Callen across the room, watching him, and wondered if he was about to get a lecture.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure we were good,” Callen said eventually.

“When are we not good?” Deeks responded with a tight smile. Today had been long and stressful, and for once, he did not feel up for chitchat. He closed his laptop, sliding it into his messenger bag.

“I mean, after what we talked about today. You and Kensi.”

“Oh, I think you made your position on our relationship stunningly clear.” He answered flippantly, not wanting to show how much Callen’s lack of faith in him and Kensi bothered him. He’d expected it to a point. Having it confirmed though wasn’t what he wanted.

“Ok, maybe what I said came out a little more harshly than I intended,” Callen admitted, and Deeks snorted.

“No, “don’t pretend you didn’t know the risks” is definitely a ringing endorsement,” Deeks said wryly, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he turned to face Callen finally. “You don’t approve of us dating. It’s ok. We expected it, which is why we attempted to keep it under wraps.”

“And that obviously worked out well for you,” Callen said with his usual dry sarcasm.

“Are we done here? Because it’s late, and I’m tired, and Kensi’s waiting for me.”

“Deeks, wait.” Callen touched Deeks’ forearm, keeping him from brushing past. Deeks waited expectantly while Callen shifted uncomfortably. “Look, you know I’m not great when it comes to this stuff.”

“Clearly,” Deeks agreed.

“Just listen for a second. From the perspective of your team leader and coworker, yes, I’m not the biggest fan. The two of you dating is definitely gonna make things more difficult. It’s just the nature of crossing that line,” he explained himself, hesitating. Deeks raised an eyebrow, waiting for the part that didn’t sound like further criticism. “But as your friend, I’m also happy for you. After everything you’ve gone through and overcome in the last couple years, you deserve this. I’m sorry that my initial response wasn’t better.”

“Oh. That’s, uh, that’s surprisingly supportive and kind,” Deeks said with some surprise. He pursed his lips, feeling a little awkward now. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Callen smirked, breaking the moment. “I will wholeheartedly deny it though if you even think of telling Sam I said it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good.” Callen extended his hand to Deeks, and after a moment, he took it squeezing firmly. “Have a nice night, Deeks.”

“You too, Callen.”

Callen look over his shoulder on the way out. “Oh, and I might keep the PDAs to a minimum if you don’t want Granger to shoot you.”

“Got it,” Deeks said, shaking his head as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Oddly enough, he felt just a little bit better.

***

Thanks for the prompt!

[cidthesquid]

Style Savvy Sunday | Style Savvy : Styling Star #04

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Welcome back, I hope you're all doing well As you can see I've now added a navigation header, hopefully this is may it easier for new people to get caught up on my journey though the games. Anyway, here's today's outfit:

Alright, So we've reached a new day, and it looks like the florist just opened.

So let's go check it out!

It looks like they're not open yet, but for now I'll assume it will be an expanded version of the flower stall from 'Trendsetters' where they act as decoration.

The next thing I did was stock up on new clothes, I always seem to be running low, on stock and money, despite hardly ever buying things in bulk.

(maybe it's because I buy too much without considering how it will be used.) Alright, well back to the shop! It looks like Jo is back,

It looks like she's decided to start the music club herself! and she needs our help. But before she can tell us more, she dives to find a place to hide as her brother shows up:

It appears he does not care for her taste in music or lifestyle, They drop some hints about a style he is needs for a client, (baby doll) As well as a favorite style of his (gothic) and then run off to try to find Jo. After he leaves, Jo returns from hiding and informs us that her brother in rich and in charge of the family business and finances, mentioning that he could easily fund the club:

She goes on to mention that they were formerly close, but after some undisclosed event, they seem to be fairly distant recently. She later mentions that one point of contention is how her brother gets upset that she won't dress in a more professional manner, when working on her own business ventures. So her request, is that we help finder her an outfit so she can approach him at a social event to seek his support with her club. (seems easy enough) Next, we get a visit from Niamh, asking what brand we should open next.

This is similar to how progression has worked in previous games, however we only get two choices at the start Marble Lilly (baby doll) and Raven Candle (Gothic). So it's directly tied to the previous event. (very cool!) And much like the previous event with Rosie where we got to pick a style for her, it looks like this may be our style choice for the Jo's event. ( I went with Raven Candle, I just love working with their clothes!) And that was all the customers for today, so time to close up shop, and get some sleep:

(I just noticed how much I shift perspectives when writing this, it probably sounds a bit odd to read, let me know if it gets too weird) So today I spent a ton of money, and did not get any back, But that's fine.

Also it looks like the daily recap screen will show the last photo you took that day! -------------------------------------------------------------------------- And the next day Rosie returns to the shop:

She mentions that she wants to become a popstar! (maybe I should have picked the other style choice for her.. oh well)

Anyways she mentions that she's already got an audition lined up at Nin10, and wants up to come up with an outfit for her, (Still in the rock style) I wish I had the funds to restock, but I'm pretty happy with how this turned out:

Again, I did not have a ton to work with, but I really like how the neon tank top paired with the sleaved inner! Aside from the clashing patterns, (contrast-wise) I think the overall top design looks nice!

She was not as impressed, I think the tights being from a different style may have been too much. Well I guess I help some other customers to get funds so I can better complete the look. It looks like there's a new customer request type now:

You still get the 'wait, while I restock' option, but you only have one shot to impress them! (Not a big deal for me, I always just say "Try it on!", haha)

I don't have any 'rock' trousers in red at this time. Hopefully she's okay with going with 'bold' instead...

And yup, it worked, out! Bold and rock generally crossover well. Ok, next up:

I think this would have looked better without the black inner, But hey, it's an extra 40 bucks! It doesn't ruin the look!

I helped a few more customers, but as soon as the in game time trued to 'night' the rest vanished. So I'm guessing your workload functions based on the time of day. Each major time shift adds new customers, and they leave at night. A start contrast to previous entries, but it adds rhythm that keep the player manually progressing the days.

--- Alright, new day, new customers,

Sadly, Rosie has not returned yet, So lets work on others:

The glasses looked a little goofy on the mannequin, but I think they turned out okay!

...This lady really just walked into my rock themed boutique to buy... Socks?

I guess she really liked them? haha. Anyways, with that I used up all my customers for the time slot. So for now I'll just restock my inventory to prep for Rosie's return. But I think we'll save that for next time! --- Alright, so my opinion on this game just keeps improving! The customer limit is a little odd, but it keeps the game flowing at a steady pace. I'm still a little saddened by the extreme lack of town NPC's to talk to, But there are a lot more important character already, and they're hugely more developed than any of the characters in the previous games. So you're really just trading off tons of tiny 'fluff' conversations, for a lower number of more impactful ones. The achievement tracker (awards) is a nice addition too:

It gives you dozens of different changes to aim for, and even notes down when they were completed. So yeah, lots of nice changes, and I had a lot of fun playing. I don't really have any specific personal connections to note down. But I've noticed a few positive changes in my personal life overall, So, it looks like a few things are generally headed in a good direction. But there's still a ton I needed to define for myself, and get sorted out But I'm glad I have a positive creative outlet with this blog, Writing post, and seeing your likes & comments has been really nice! So yeah, thanks for reading, Until next time!

<Next Post> ---- As always, all comments, questions, and suggestions are welcome! (I'm also looking for feedback on this new style, how's the formatting?)

You literally can't bother me, (unless you go out of your way to be a jerk), so post whatever you need to say!

[kaihuntrr]

part eleven: status report.

On a misty isle, the navy arrive.

Hope you didn't expect a little perspective shift! i wonder how ties are doing... ;)

The sun was high in the sky when the great white ship docked at its destination.Large concrete walls surrounded the bay area, lined with watchtowers to prevent any sudden ambushes from the sea. Buildings and open areas were scattered within the walled naval base, offering naval units the time to train and places to eat and sleep in. The bulk of the base was situated along the beach, the large port allowing ships to enter and exit as they pleased. The naval base on the island was not as prestigious and glamorous as the one in the kingdom’s main isle, but it would have to do.

Skizz puffed out his chest and breathed in the fresh air. It was a refreshing change of scenery. 

Skizz and the rest of TIES, accompanied by the Herons’ research ship, had sailed to an island near the world border. Doc had suggested the place, and knowing the man, Skizz had obliged. He walked down the gangplank and into the base itself, being saluted by fellow naval soldiers lifted his spirit.

“How long do we plan on staying here?” Etho stood next to Skizz, his strides were casual as he placed his hands in his pocket. The man never spoke much, so hearing his voice was a welcome surprise.

“Not for too long, maybe a day or two,” Skizz responded, tilting his head. “I bet we’ll do some island hopping, so some sight-seeing would be nice.”

A few soldiers walked out of the base, boarding the ship to help unload. The equipment Doc had given them was hefty; they needed all the help they could get to carry the machinery inside. It was remarkable equipment, Skizz didn’t know what went into creating each machine or how each one was as effective as they were. It only fueled his desire to see Doc’s laboratory for himself.

Skizz almost chuckled as he heard Tango’s groan, the blonde and Impulse walking up to join them. 

Tango crossed his arms. “There’s nothing much to see, really,” his eyes darted from the base to the boat, “But I’d love to see things with Doc’s equipment.”

“Imagine all the things we could see under the waves,” Impulse put a hand on his chin with a smile, “We can finally see what’s happening down there.”

What kind of things lurked under the ocean? What sort of beast might await them? Skizz listened to the waves crash against the docks and ships.

Soon, we’ll see what you’re hiding.

Doc’s newest equipment could somehow show them what the sea looked like. It was a type of drone with a video feature, made with parts of different creatures in ways Skizz couldn’t possibly wrap his head around. The Doctor was a crazy man, but his technology was for all. He couldn’t imagine what sort of device Doc had waiting for them next. It was a constant surprise, but that was a good thing. It always gave them a new edge.

Skizz turned his head as several sets of footsteps approached them, accompanied by the squeaks of wheels. Olive, one of the Herons, walked up to Skizz while the others helped the soldiers haul the big cart full of circuitry and machines down the gangplank, “Where do we set up?”

“One of the buildings near the water should be vacant to set all of this up,” Skizz gestured to one of the overlooking cliffs in the base. They had to be close to the water for the machines to work. “Bring the equipment there, we’ll be over shortly.” He smiled at Olive. Olive nodded and gave Skizz a small salute before motioning to the other Herons to take the cart away.

Skizz hummed. They didn’t need to rush to the building. Doc had instructed them and the Herons on how to set up the drones, and the Herons were fast learners, so they likely only needed minimal help, if any. They were wonderful folk and any of them would likely be great at being captains should any of them ever want to become one. 

The navy was always open to new members. 

Skizz and the other captains walked along the path to the upper cliffs, taking their time and looking around the base to get themselves settled in for the time being. Two weeks didn’t sound like a lot of time, but a couple minutes of just talking wouldn’t hurt. Impulse was on the far left, then Skizz, then Etho, and finally Tango walked on the far right.

“I wonder how the Canaries are doing,” Impulse’s gaze was focused on the path. He kept his voice low, “I hope they’re alright.”

“I hope they’re alright too, for their sake,” Tango tilted his head to Impulse and shrugged. “Their stubbornness could kill them.”

Impulse’s eyes widened and he gave Tango a glare. Tango quickly stammered, “Th-they’ll be fine, of course.” He looked away and kept his head down. Impulse sighed, his shoulders drooped and looked down at the ground.

“As much as we may want to be the leaders for this mission, remember we’re all doing this for the sake of the people,” Skizz said as he looked between Impulse and Tango. Etho nodded along as Skizz continued, “I see the reason behind the king wanting us to work together, and of course we will, but we’re doing that on our own terms.”

Silence washed over the four as they looked around. The afternoon air passed through them as the sound of the ocean was drowned out by the sounds of distant soldiers taking target practice or sparring. It was never a dull moment in naval bases, and for this one to be exposed to the open sea is given higher security.

No one wanted to get attacked by a sea beast in the night.

Tango hummed, “Once we find a sea prince, we can track it. I’m not sure what to look out for, though.”

Skizz wasn’t sure how to feel about sea princes.

He’s heard the stories, but they didn’t make sense in his head. The monsters he’s seen being researched and analyzed were down to earth; they didn’t have special magic or golden blood. They were just beasts, simple as that. The ocean was a dangerous place with monster-infested waters and a high death count, there were no traces of magic or fairy tales to be seen.

The concept of hidden treasures and gigantic fish monsters with magic powers sounded hard to believe.

“The stories we’ve found are pretty vague, so anything goes,” Impulse hummed, “But the activity reported here says the sea monsters in the area have been acting up. I don’t know about you, but that sounds suspicious enough to investigate.” He grinned.

“That’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Skizz grinned back, crossing his arms. “It was some sort of rumble in the water that didn’t sound like any growl or roar from the monsters known to be local to the area. It could be an undocumented creature, but it could also be... well, you know.”

Autumn seemed like the time for all the monsters to act up, apparently.

While Skizz had never hunted in his life, the research the king’s analysts had shown them noted that the aggressive behavior of the beasts went through the roof during these months. If autumn brought out the worst in these monsters, some more dormant creatures could potentially surface, giving them a chance to study it. Skizz had no idea how hunters could find and kill so many beasts in the span of a month. It was an incredible feat and something to be proud of. There was that feud TIES had with the Canaries, sure, but Skizz truly respected them.

“What does the king even want from a sea prince?” Etho asked quietly as he looked at Skizz with a raised eyebrow. It seemed the question hung over everyone’s mind lately.

The king wanted safety and protection for all. Skizz knew that helping him would only bring the best outcome for society. If the king said he wanted safety and a sign that humans could come out victorious after battling such a monster, then that must be the reason. He had their best interest at heart, so Skizz wouldn’t dare question it.

Though, if he could, Skizz wished he could ask more about the sea prince.

“If all the stories are true, who wouldn’t want one?” Tango shrugged, “Just think of all the resources just one prince could provide us with since it’s huge. Plus, no one would be scared of the ocean anymore, and just imagine the bragging rights!” He laughed.

Skizz laughed along with Tango. “Because capturing a sea prince is just good for bragging rights, nothing else,” he rolled his eyes with an amused look on his face. He glanced to see Impulse with a small smile and Etho looking content. The four had continued their trek up the cliff and finally reached the entrance.

The building the commanders and the Herons would end up using was one of the watchtowers overlooking the bay. It was a tall, stony tower with small vines twisting up the concrete walls. There was a crane next to the tower, allowing the Herons to have brought up the equipment to the top. Though all buildings were supposed to look perfect, this one was a bit crooked. The tower also doubled as a bunker, serving as a safe place should a siege happen. It wouldn’t, but it didn’t hurt to be precautious.

Skizz looked up at the tower, “Looks like we’re here. I hope the Herons are alright with setting it all up by themselves.”

“They’ll be fine!” Tango waved his hand and shook his head. He smiled, “You worry too much about them, they can handle it.”

It wasn’t like Skizz thought the Herons were incapable, far from it, but he was concerned. The Herons were filled with responsible, smart people who could do their jobs with only minor inconveniences. They frequently helped lead teams of researchers to several fantastical discoveries, the Herons before and after them had left grand legacies for them to live up to. It was a daunting task, but Skizz had noticed the way these Herons acted as if nothing was holding them back.

It didn’t look like all of them got along, though. For as much work they had done together, there didn’t seem to be any camaraderie or friendships being made. Skizz remembered on their time sailing to this island, the Herons had all either been off doing their own things or having small arguments. At their best, they had a working, business relationship, but at their worst….

Skizz turned the doorknob and opened the door. The stone floors weren’t covered in any mess, the walls were pristine and lit by torches, and there wasn’t any frustrated yelling. All good signs. The equipment must be on the higher floors, then. 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Tango shrugged. “Let’s go see them.”

The four climbed up the ladder, Skizz going first, with Tango, Impulse, and Etho following behind him. It wasn’t a long or arduous climb, given it was on a high vantage point, so it wasn’t too much of a struggle to climb the rungs. A little exercise didn’t hurt though, they were all just on a ship, they needed to get their land legs again.

The Herons seemed to be quiet for now, but it was only a matter of time until–

“Ugh, Owen!” Water’s voice rang with annoyance behind the closed door, “I thought you were supposed to calibrate the monitor with the cameras!”

The Herons were usually alright. It usually wasn’t hard for them to work together, and when they did, they worked together well! When they argued, however… 

Tango leaned up to Skizz and whispered, one of his hands covering his mouth, “Okay, maybe they do have problems.” Skizz looked down and rolled his eyes.

“I did that!” Owen sighed. “Someone must’ve messed with it. Here, let me–”

“It’s fine, I’ll do it,” Water lowered her voice. “Go write your stupid little letter.”

“First of all, rude, second, it’s not–”

Skizz pushed the trapdoor open and climbed up, the other three following close behind. Owen immediately shut himself up as he and Water stared at Skizz with embarrassment.

The room at the top of the tower was spacious. The walls had open multiple windows giving a clear view over the ocean. A large lantern hung in the center of the room above a large circular table. An unlit fireplace sat off to one side, and a few sets of weapon racks sat lined up by the far wall. The monitors and cables of Doc’s machines were placed on one side of the central table, with two medium-sized drones occupying a decent amount of space on the floor.

Owen was leaning against one of the walls while Water was next to the monitors with Sniff. Olive and El looked to be in the middle of a conversation as they sat on wooden seats next to the windows. All the Herons looked to have frozen, but Olive nudged El as the Heron blinked.

“Hello, commanders!” Olive approached Skizz with a smile, El following behind. They tilted their head and forced a strained laugh out, “Things are just fine here. Just some confusion between those two.”

“We could hear that,” Tango glanced at Olive and El then to Owen and Water. “What’s the problem with you two?”

“It’s nothing, really, just a misunderstanding,” Owen shook his head. “Water seems to have it fixed.”

“No thanks to you,” Water glared at Owen. Sniff put her hand on top of Water’s shoulders and shook her head. Water sighed, “Owen seems more focused on writing her friend letters than on doing her tasks.”

“I was already done with my tasks, everyone else is done too,” Owen put a hand on his chest, flabbergasted at Water’s accusatory tone. He crossed his arms. “Even if I did slack off, I would’ve done my work too. You know that.”

Sniff looked at Owen, “Were you planning to send a letter to your friend?”

“You know it,” Owen nodded with a smile. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Owen didn’t speak much about his friend to the others, but Skizz had caught a few things. He had a friend in the port town not far from the kingdom, and Skizz knew Owen’s friend’s name, but it slipped his mind. He did know of some basic details, like his long and braided ginger hair and the fact that he ran a tavern.

“And it’ll have to stay that way for the coming weeks,” Impulse walked over to Water and Sniff, but he turned his head to Owen. “You may write your letter, hopefully we’ll be back soon.” Owen held back a sigh and looked at the ground. Impulse followed his gaze, knowing the feeling all too well.

Bdubs.

Skizz could see Impulse’s smitten look a mile away. He figured Impulse was excited to find out they’d be working with the Canaries, but working together would be a bit difficult until they worked out all of their problems. Skizz often found himself wanting to ask Impulse about his relationship with the Canary, given he was blissfully unaware his friend had met and started dating a hunter, but it wasn’t Skizz’s place to pry. It was out of work, and as a friend, Skizz knew Impulse liked to keep his work and personal life separate.

“How is the device?” Etho stood next to Impulse and crossed his arms.

“All working and ready to be sent to the sea,” Sniff smiled. They tilted their head as they glanced at the drones, “We have yet to check if the feed works at such a far distance.”

“It should work, it’s what Doc designed it for,” Tango shrugged. He walked up to the monitor, “Should reach hundreds of meters in the water before any technical errors.”

“What do you think we’ll see down there?” Olive looked at Skizz and El. “What sort of new creature lurks underneath?”

“Probably some big ugly monster,” El grinned. “I can’t wait to see it. And, we don’t have to risk our lives, which is great.”

“We’ll have to risk our lives sooner or later. We’re going to capture one of those monsters after all,” Skizz raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “I’m not really expecting to see much, so I think I’ll be surprised by anything the drones show us.” He shrugged.

El raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound excited, Skizz,” They nudged him. “You should be! If we do spot a sea prince, the drones would be too small for it to notice, and that would be such a major breakthrough without it even knowing!”

Skizz chuckled, “I’ll be excited when we actually spot the thing, El,” he shook his head and smiled. “Let’s go see what they’re doing.” El and Olive nodded.

Skizz looked at the big table to see Tango and Impulse with Water and Sniff messing with the monitors, while Etho inspected the drones. El and Olive walked up to the bigger group as Skizz looked over to see Owen hunched over near the window, eyes focused on writing as a gentle breeze pushed through her hair. Skizz left the big group and approached Owen.

“Finished writing?” 

Skizz’s sudden voice caused the Heron to flinch.

Owen blinked, his body going rigid. There was a brief moment of silence as he stared straight ahead for several moments until his shoulders finally relaxed. “Almost,” Owen sighed. He motioned to the group behind him, finnicking with all sorts of wires and machinery that Owen didn’t seem too keen to invest himself with. “If we’re just setting up those things all afternoon, I’ll send this to the post office tomorrow morning.”

Skizz nodded. Owen crossed his arms, “It sucks I don’t get to see him often,” he turned to look at Skizz and gave the commander a tired smile. “Sometimes being the best is just… the worst.” 

If there was anything important to note about Owen, it was his ego. He was just as smart as the other Herons, but his mind often tended to be somewhere else. He did his job, but that was it. He didn’t seem to see his fellow Herons as anything more than coworkers.

“Well, you’re a Heron. You’re pretty important,” Skizz shrugged with a small smile. Herons were all about research, and Owen liked to do his own studies. Having them assist the navy during their own research missions was worth it. They needed all the help they could get, even if that meant stoking some egos. “I’m sure your friend would love to hear all your exploits once we’re able to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but,” Owen gestured with his hands, “traveling there takes too long, and Scott doesn’t really want to visit the castle towns.” He crossed his arms.

“Why’s that?”

“He has sensitive ears, so he’d rather not be around loud places. With all the work the machines do over there, especially where I hang around, he’d be uncomfortable,” Owen shook his head. “I don’t mind the travel, of course, I’d be there in a heartbeat, I just wish the distance wasn’t too far.”

Skizz nodded. He knew of that feeling through Impulse. Sometimes Skizz would find his friend staring out into the town or sea, muttering about Bdubs in a soft voice. Impulse was absolutely smitten, but if ever Skizz approached he would quickly shut himself up. “We all would wish that, but that’s just how things are,” he shrugged, forcing a small smile. “What’s in the letter?”

Owen’s eyes widened a little. “The things we’re doing; travel, training, research, the boring stuff,” he forced a smile and leaned against the paper. He shrugged, “That’s it.”

“You’re sure?” Skizz raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re a bad liar.”

Owen’s smile dropped from her face. Her eyes looked around the room and she looked down, covering a side of her mouth with her hand.

“...I’m telling him about the sea prince.”

Skizz’s jaw dropped.

“What? Why?” Skizz walked closer to Owen and lowered his voice. “You can’t tell him that.”

Owen tilted his head, “It’ll just be between me and him. Scott keeps our secrets! He wouldn’t tell a single soul, trust me.” He smiled, but it only grew Skizz’s concern.

“Our secrets?”

“...Well, no one’s talked about our unpublished research projects in public, right?” 

What exactly did he tell his friend?

“Owen.” Skizz sighed and rubbed his temples. He knew Owen was smarter than this- he was a Heron. Skizz wondered how long Owen had been relaying top secret information to someone unaffiliated with naval business. If anything slipped out, everyone in this tower were as good as dead.

Owen’s eyes shifted around the room, but eventually he looked down at the letter and sighed. “...Okay.” He bit his lip.

Great, now he felt bad.

“Next time,” Skizz put a hand on Owen’s shoulder and smiled. “Just tell us what you’re going to write to him. You can’t write about everything, but you can tell your friend you’re alive and doing things around the base, at least.”

“Got it,” Owen smiled back. There was a small pause, then Owen lowered his voice, “I’m sorry.”

Skizz patted Owen’s shoulder reassuringly. “No worries, be careful next time,” Owen nodded. A loud clunk caught the two’s attention as the others messed with the gadgets. “Finish writing that up, and come over to us, alright?” Another nod from Owen, and Skizz was off.

Would it really be okay to let Owen send it? Skizz hasn’t been outside the castle town much, nor has he been outside for long periods of time. Plus, this was Owen’s friend, not his. He didn’t know what Scott was like. But Owen had a point: no one talked about the Heron’s secret research on the outside, there didn’t seem to be any consequences for all the other times, so this ‘Scott’ was apparently trustworthy, but Skizz still felt uneasy. 

Just this once, he told himself.

Skizz held back his sigh and shook his head.

Just this once.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Results, Recovery & Rehabilitation

Summary: After the parasitic infection on Umbara, Tup tries to get used to his new life circumstances. It's mostly trial and error and a lot of frustration, but it helps to have some help.

Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch belongs to @lost-on-kamino

[Something nice and fluffy to make up for all of Whumptober. I think it's nice to end 2023 on a more hopeful tone.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

For the most part since Tup had woken up from his coma, things were surprisingly peaceful for the usually rowdy 501st Battalion. This in of itself wasn't too strange. But, considering the circumstances behind his own disquiet, Tup couldn't help but to find it all a little unnerving.

Mostly because, in his mind, the mutated rookie didn't think he'd be so comfortable with having his own assailant running free, were he to be given the choice. Or rather, had he been in his brothers's shoes and not been the one perpetrating the horrors they'd suffered, Tup thought maybe he would at the very least want to bunk somewhere far away from the obvious threat...

Maybe the others were just better men than he was. Refusing to judge him for any of the things that transpired on Umbara. Even in spite of having gotten hurt, and their bodies having been altered in permanent life-changing ways.

Maybe he was just being too hard on himself. The guilt that followed him everywhere making him unwilling to forget, while also dolling out his own punishment in the form of restless nights full of wondering about what he could have done differently.

He didn't really know. Nor does he bother to really look for the supposed right answer. Dogma already did enough of that for him anyway. Actually, Dogma did practically everything for him nowadays.

And therein lie part of the problem...

Now, don't get him wrong, it's not like Tup hated his brothers's selfless, open affection, or their willingness to forgive him and seemingly forget what had transpired. In fact, he was more than a little grateful that he hadn't been condemned to a life of solitude and bitter resentment.

What bothered him was that they were being so gentle about it. Almost coddling him in the process.

And that was something that he felt wasn't fair on anyone. There should be consequences, even if he himself had been a victim of some very unique and horrific circumstances. Sith-hells, they should be rightfully upset that (even though he was being puppeteered by an overgrown mite) it was his own selfish desire to protect them all at all costs, that ended up being used as incentive to infect them with the same horrific condition he now had to live with.

This grotesque body with primordial instincts and bodily functions he couldn't quite understand. That he was afraid to become too intimately familiar with, due to the nature of these changes being so monstrous.

Being welcomed back with open arms felt like a disservice to all that he considered fair. A right slap in the face to everyone he'd hurt.

And that drove him a little bit crazy, the cheer amount of things that just weren't the same. Both physical and metaphysical. The GAR had never shied away from punishing even the most minor of infractions. Why couldn't his treacherous behavior be dealt with the same? Why was everything so terribly confusing?

It made his skin crawl in that way he knew Dogma's did when things weren't within a mold he understood. His perspective shifting to one that was of mutual understanding, in a way that should have not been so negative.

Tup should have never have had to change to finally understand Dogma's point of view. And yet...

Strange as it was to him how easily everyone had just moved on (and even went out of their way to interact with him as if he were still the same rookie who'd only just gotten deployed into his first real campaign), one thing Tup did accept at the end of the day:

There was really no use in sitting down and stubbornly dwelling on, and moaning about, things that everyone else had apparently already processed and buried the hatchet on. And, perhaps, it was just he that needed to shake the anxieties off and get a better grip on this new existence of his.

Starting with finding his new normal via the mundane when everyone else already had a head-start.

Getting measurements done for his new set of body gloves and rather minimalist armour pieces (which were more so he felt less exposed than really needed, due to his sturdy carapace that was more than able to protect him), made it all the more abundantly clear that he was physically not the same. But that didn't seem to deter the rather optimistic armourers.

His new shape was most definitely not easy to work with (things were just built in a way that made little to no sense in tailoring matters), boggling the minds of his vode who scratched their chins and hummed to themselves as they tried to sort out patterns and calculations.

A lot of guess-work had ultimately been involved. And maybe some holonet consultation. All the while he sat there, tail whipping ever so slightly, while Dogma reassured him that his new uniform and armour attachments wouldn't be intrusive.

"Most fabrics feel a little off against the chitinous plating. And anything that restricts wing or joint movement is uncomfortable, so they're going to take all of that into consideration." His twin had explained. "The first few prototypes the other vode and I tried out ended up ripping very easily..."

"That... Must have been a little awkward." At the time he couldn't help but to imagine both Dogma or Commander Cody unexpectedly ripping their clothes in a public space. It had been a humorous and frankly shocking mental image. One that made an undignified snort weasel its way out through his nostrils, even after he'd covered his mouth as best he could.

"It was downright embarrassing... Luckily none of us have external genitalia anymore, so at least we didn't get written down for indecent exposure." The pinched look on his brother's face spoke volumes about his past and current embarrassment on the matter. Dogma had never been fond of casual semi-nudity, much less full blown decant day suit where anyone could see. Showering communally was the only exception but then that wasn't much of a choice. "I ripped my trousers trying to get them on. My stinger cut right through the fabric... Realized pretty quickly we needed to do something about it. Hence the cap..."

"Uh-huh..." Tup had noticed the rubbery black cap covering Dogma's new lethal weapon. But he hadn't commented on it. He didn't think he should.

"Before the boys in armouring figured out a good enough material for a proper cap, Fives just stabbed a cork on it..." Dogma admitted as he hid his face in his hands. His lower set of hands. The other two were busy braiding Tup's hair. "It was humiliating..."

"A... Wait what? A cork?!" Tup snorted once more. This time not feeling like hiding or suppressing his amusement at all. "A cork? Where'd he get a cork?!"

"I have no idea!" Dogma shrugged. "But I spent a week with a cork stuck to a venomous stinger attached to my rear... At least I stopped ripping my trousers..."

"A cork... Unbelievable..." He couldn't help but coil his tail around his brother as the armouring crew came back with some designs for him to have a look at. They had seemed completely at ease around both Tup and Dogma despite their altered appearances and intimidating stature.

It really was strange... The only people who acted how Tup thought they should, were Coric, Sponge and Pitch, who were actively avoiding and frightened of them.

Well, then again, the armouring crew liked a challenge. Tup certainly had become one.

Right after getting kitted up, the second affair he'd had to get in order was a full medical update. There were a million and one tests Kix had to perform to get the gist of his new anatomy, with some notes he and Twitch had collected from the Umbaran medical facility as guides or points of comparison.

Humans and Umbarans had different physiological needs despite being convergent species, so it had not been unexpected for their metamorphic pathways to diverge a little once exposed to the same parasite.

It was, much like with tailoring a new set of kit specifically for him, a lot of guess work. But at least they'd had a proper guide instead of having to invent something with a little bit of help from whatever somewhat-fitting pattern they could find on the holonet.

He'd tolerated the tests but hadn't been overly fond of all of the bloodwork that had come with them.

"It's impressive. Your regenerative abilities were already advanced due to our immunity system being considerably more enhanced than that of a natborn's..." Kix loudly mused as he watched the readings on the terminal with great interest. Seeming much more relaxed than the rest of the medics who'd been making themselves busy to disguise their nervousness around him. "But with these mutations you've suffered, they've been significantly boosted. More so than the other mutated vode."

"That's nice and all, but do you really need to keep drawing blood?" He'd sighed, mildly irritated, not all that interested in knowing what else was different about him internally. What he'd already known freaked him out plenty. "Any minute now, and I'll feel woozy..."

"That's the thing, you're dealing rather well with the quantity I've already taken. Any other clone would have already started feeling faint." Kix offered. "If I could figure out why that is, what in your body is making you basically a walking bacta tank, I could possibly find a way to implement it as a more effective alternative for treating not just clones but maybe even natborns as well..."

"...Uh..."

"Maybe one day, after we finish tidying everything up... Too many loose ends to deal with wrapping up the war, to even consider the possibility of a medical award in my future." The medic sighed somewhat fondly at the thought. Seeming to be more inclined to dream about what might come to be, than focus on the errors of the past. The ramifications of certain situations.

And, while Tup didn't like the idea of being a test subject for whatever cooky idea his brothers might come up with, he wouldn't be too opposed to help advance the field of medicine if it meant the horrors of bacta shortages would become obsolete.

Getting used to his new diet was another thing he'd had to attend to. His body now requiring tremendously high levels of protein and sugar to function at full capacity. With mushrooms rounding out the rest of his requirements, as well as plentiful hydration with a few vitamin supplements.

It made sense, considering the life cycle of the parasite. But it was infinitely sad to him that the beauty of variety had been taken from him in the field of greenery. And Tup was quite fond of vegetables at that. Those he'd afflicted with this infection also stuck on the same boat as he.

That said, the amount of desserts that were now being requested to support his and the others's high sugar diet, were somewhat of a benefit to the mood of the entire battalion.

Clones had a notable sweet tooth after all. The 501st were standard in that manner.

It took quite a lot to satisfy his hunger, taking into account his much larger size. Filling up did come with a certain weakness however, which was how incredibly drowsy he would become whenever he ended up stuffing himself silly. As soon as he was finished with any meal, he needed to take a mandatory nap. Which often found him in the company of one particular medic.

Tup had humorously become adept at stumbling across Twitch. Asleep in some hidden nook or cranny in rather boneless-tooka fashion. How he hadn't stepped on the vod'ika yet, Tup wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't one to just let a brother sleep out in the cold. Thus it became norm to catch sight of a full-bellied and rather sleepy Tup groggily trotting back towards the barracks with Twitch fitfully asleep on his back. Secured by the grip of strong and hard outer-wing that kept his much softer underwings nicely protected.

Sometimes he'd put Twitch on a free bunk, tucking him in all nice and warm, with the use of those horrid tendrils that came out of his sides like tentacles. Their grasp much more gentle and dexterous than the large clunky claws that he now had to live with.

Other times he just lay down in the webbing nest Dogma had arranged for him (as he no longer fit nor felt comfortable on a standard bunk or cot), and let the younger medic remain sleep on his back. The kih'vod clinging to him tighter than a baby kowakian monkey lizard clung to its mother's back.

He'd either wake up with Twitch back on duty, the warmth on his back long gone and replaced instead with a blanket, or he'd find Dogma watching over both of them while he read some holonovel he'd picked up recently.

It was... Peaceful. Domestic even. Normal.

It bothered him on principle, but not enough so that he was averse to it in the same way that everyone's collective forgiveness made him feel jittery. Which was ironic considering Twitch was one of the vode he felt like had reason enough to hate him. The kih'vod was full of surprises.

Full of compassion in a way that most might consider naive. Tup found it admirable. So did their older brothers who didn't feel quite right there yet to sit with him. He'd heard as much while accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between Pitch and Sponge.

"He's a good kid." Pitch had muttered softly, while sitting with the more surly of the two. Occasionally brushing Beau's fur with a brush that Sponge had dutifully provided him with as a distraction.

Relearning to walk had made the two's friendship flourish even more than it ever had before. With both Sponge and Beau becoming much needed emotional support that Pitch could rely on.

"He's the best of us." Sponge had agreed, a smile on their still healing face. Some of the damage had gone with the wind. Only a few scars remained. Too many scars, in Tup's guilt-ridden opinion. "Such is the way of youths."

"He's not that much younger than us, you're making me feel old." Pitch had laughed, grinning at his friend in good humour. "But... Yeah. There's something about the younger generations of clones... I guess it's hope. They're more hopeful."

"Bitter resentment hasn't set in yet. It's what makes them better..." Sponge had seemed resigned to that, but not in a way that felt particularly bad. At least not from the way they'd sounded. "It's our job now, to make sure those of us that are still so eager to hope can live freer lives than the ones we'll surely live."

"Yeah... Yeah. For what it's worth, I'm still going to try to do better."

"As it should be."

It was a conversation that had given him much to think about. In due time, all of them might yet find peace in this new form of being. Be is as insectoid mutant troopers, or veterans ready to learn what it truly was to live at peace. No war or turmoil ahead of them.

Tup might yet let go, even if right now things were still a little too fresh. Too raw. Too pleasant for him to fully accept without feeling bad. He would strive to do better next time.

[system-of-a-feather]

[@A -- if that's still a thing]

Um, is it still ok for people to send advice requests? The post I found about it was 4 years old so I'm not sure if that's changed at all (but the fact I was searching deep enough in the persecutors tag to find a 4 year old post probably tells you something).

Like it's great and all to see people talking about how to help hosts connect with persecutors but I never see any advice for the actual persecutors.

I don't want to talk to the rest of my system. I don't want to talk to our friends or our therapist. I don't trust anybody. I hate everybody.

The others keep telling me the "bad stuff" is over and I don't have to keep being a persecutor. But I know better. There are always people just waiting for us to let our guards down. I hate them for being so vulnerable and then when it comes back to bite them, they act like they have any right to be hurt by it.

And they never listen to me. They act like I'M the pathetic one and feel sorry for me, and keep telling me stupid lies. The more they're nice to me the more I don't trust them, same for our friends and therapist. No one is ever nice without an ulterior motive, especially not to people like us who don't even deserve it.

But I feel kinda miserable. I don't really like when I hurt the others. Today I made my in-system big sis cry and she never cries. I feel stuck. I don't want to open up to anybody but I can't figure out the answer by myself.

Don't worry about it, it's cool XD We kinda just float on here to chat about things and are basically always open for casual advice and two cents on things, especially (but not exclusively) related to DID which is / was the obvious original premise of this blog. (also damn we've been running this blog for over four years damn)

Honestly, in our experience persecutors vary greatly related to the specific stuff they've been through, what sort of dynamics are being played with what parts, what situations trigger persecutory behavior, etc so I don't think there is really any "one size fits all" sort of thing I can particularly share.

Instead I can give some food for thoughts from our experiences in our system and you are more than welcome to send another ask if you have any comments or questions or anything on it - cause again, we are just here to sit and chat for the most part.

We have a good few "persecutors" but we also don't really use that as a role label anymore cause in our experience, persecutors just tend to be labeled that as a result of perspective and the direction that life is going which comes with an inherent bias to the host and prominent protecting parts. And due to that perspective and bias approach to the label, it kind of paints one side as the problem and the other side as the victim when really... its just a toxic breakdown of communication and missunderstanding between parts. I'm of the opinion that almost any part in most persecutor/persecutee dynamics (there are exceptions I've heard, but they're not standard) can be framed to be the persecutor OR the persecutee.

As a result, in our system, we comment on a part having "persecutory behavior" or "behaving in a persecutory manner" because it's a common issue a lot of parts in our system have. Some have it more than others, but in our experience, almost all parts have been in a position that could be considered a "persecutor" and that shift in language has honestly helped foster a lot more open dialogue and understanding between parts.

With that said - most of this is going to be things XIV has talked to me about as he actually is an ex "persecutor" part and one that talks and deals with persecutor parts the most as of the last two years - a lot of discussion on both ends tend to focus on the dysfunction and what the persecutor hates about the system or what the system can't stand / cope with regarding a persecutor and while that is TOTALLY fair and valid (shits hard to look past especially if its a large scale safety thing and a frequent thing that comes up), it's often not the most productive approach to the internal conflict

Typically it's a lot more productive to step aside from the surface level "this is dangerous" "this is stupid" "this person is an idiot" "this part is annoying" and the long list of things you hate about the system and specific parts and all the varying-levels-of-based criticisms / complaints and try to figure out and understand what exactly it is that you WANT - what are you looking for - what is driving and motivating your feelings, behavior, thoughts, and stances to all of that.

It's hard to address and satiate a list of the things you Don't Like when you have trauma cause - lets be real, the list is endless and its very easy to find more and more issues. Often beneath that list though, there is a core need, drive, interest, etc that means a lot to you that ties together a lot of why you feel and think the way that you do. If you can identify that core need, drive, and interest, it can really help communication and compromising between parts because more often than not, that core need, drive, and interest is likely compatible with the other part's core need, drive and interest - at least superficially.

If that same grounds can be made, then it can help really get parts hearing each other out because it forms a base of good faith.

It's hard to talk to one another when one part wants - for example - to have a person to love and to be loved and wants to seek out a relationship and ANOTHER part wants to keep things the way they are and wants to keep others away because its safer that way. Those two parts are arguing for incompatible demands and the conflict is not going to really go anywhere

Instead however, if we are talking about one part wanting to be loved and another part wanting safety - well there is a lot more discussion that can be done as to how the system can approach BOTH being loved AND safety.

Of course that requires all parties to be playing with an open mind to some modification to their initial demands and expectations, but it's a general approach that XIV tends to take with parts that are prone or actively behaving in persecutory manners cause it's how he tends to navigate it.

Also this advice isn't really meant to be directed at persecutors or "the other parts" cause again, we don't really see those as clean cut roles and generally think this is a sort of approach and philosophy and methodology that is something that all engaged parts would benefit from reflecting on.

Cause even if you don't like other parts, even if you HATE other parts, if you can clearly identify what it is you need in life and what it is you are driven and motivated by - it is very hard to deny some level of cooperation if the other party is actively offering to help you get the very thing that motivates you. You don't have to like someone to know that - due to sharing a body - having them on your side to get what you want / need is very helpful and important.

So I guess if I had to say any form of advice, I'd kinda want to ask what it is that you want from your life and what does that mean to you and just kinda think on it for some time.

It's more productive to stand for what you care for and need than it is to fight against what you hate.

Anyhow, thats my two cents on it, feel free to follow up if you like. We just like chattering online

[sneezygiant]

This is 1,255 words. Larry and boog are meeting in this.

Perspective shift somewhere in the jumble

_________

A clap of thunder boomed through the air, and within a split second it stormed, downpouring a massive amount of rain.Boo gave a squeak as he ran on all sixes towards the closest house, nudging his way through grass blades taller than him.

 The little mouse would worm himself under the crack in the door, taking his time to shake himself off before deciding to look for a place to hide. Mice weren't welcome in most homes after all.  Boo got to his hind legs, his lower arms curling around his waist as he shivered, he looked around for the perfect spot to be out of sight.

   There were no options in the hallway, so Boog quickly skittered off to the first room he could find. The living room. It was a perfect place to find a hiding spot. Many places to hide, and a roaring fire in a fireplace warming up the room.

  Boog's eyes were drawn to one great hiding place, his tail giving a flick as a grin appeared on his face. Right in front of the fireplace, sprawled out in a pet bed was a white cat with black markings. The cat was snoring away peacefully,  his pink nose in the air.

 “That's perfect.” Boo whispered to himself as he ran over to the pet bed, using all four of his little hands- and a quick scurry of his legs to get up onto the rim of it. From there, he jumped onto the cat's torso, quickly needing to duck out of the way as a white paw came down to scratch at an itch.

   “I gotta be more careful.” Boog giggled, shrinking down to his 1cm size, making his way up to the cat's face. He leaped onto the cat's chin, hopping open his open mouth to stand right under that pink nose.

 Boog got back down onto all sixes, peeking into the cat's nostril, getting blasted with a warm exhale. If boog could have purred,  he would have. 

  Without wasting any more time, Boog made his way into the cat's nostril, being mindful of his tail and where he placed his paws. He didn't want to be expelled too early, he just wanted a nice cozy place to rest until the storm was over.

 The cat sniffed, and snuffled around boog, his nose twitching until the mouse settled down. 

 Boog laid down, curling into a ball with his tail covering his nose. Enjoying the warmth and comfort,  soon falling into a nap.

Larry gave a groan, his red eyes fluttering open as he scrunched up his nose with a snort. His nose had been bothering him for the last fifteen minutes. Just a faint tickle, but it seemed to shift and wiggle around. It was really ruining his ten hour long nap. He lazily sat up, bringing a paw up to his snout to saw a finger back against his nostrils. 

  He shook his head when that didn't help, huffing in agitation.  

 “Why is this happening to me? I was enjoying m…muh…my nap!” Larry complained to himself, his black ears flicking as he crossed his eyes to look at his twitching nose. He sniffled a few more times, about to lay down again and try to ignore the faint tickle…when it spiked. 

 Larry's head reared back, eyes watering and squinting as his mouth hung open for a few long moments. “Oh!” He exclaimed in mind shock, black ears giving an alarmed flick before pinning against his head.

  “Huuuhh!...uuuh! Huuh!” His breath hitched a few times, before he gave a snort and shook his head with a huff. He brought his whole paw up to smush and rub at his nose, growing frustrated as the tickling itch seemed to play games with him. 

 “What has gotten into my nose?” The cat complained as he to his feet, his hind feet and made his way to the kitchen. Snuffling and huffing the whole way there.

 Larry walked up to the fridge and opened it , ignoring a sticky note with his name written in bold with something about not touching the turkey or something. His red eyes scanned the fridge briefly,  lighting up when he saw a pre-cooked cooked turkey. He greedily reached into grab a leg, bitting it into it without hesitation.

 Sadly, at that moment Larry's nose decided to betray him.

  “HUUH! HUUHH'DSHUIEW!”

 

 That sneeze had not cleared the tickle, in fact it made It much much worse. That wasn't the issue Larry had on hand though, as the sneeze had also made him drop his turkey leg.

  

 “N-no! M-muuh…my turkey!” Larry cried out, using his paws to bat at the turkey leg mid air-until he was able to grab it by the bone with both paws. He quickly pulled it to his chest. His grip on it tight. 

 “Damn it!” He cried out in frustration,  sticking his nose up in the air and stomping his left foot on the ground.

 “I nearly lost my turkey be…buuhh…because of th-this damn t-tuuuh…tickle!” He complained with a snuffle, eyes squinted and watering before simply squeezing closer. His ears yet again flicking once, twice before flattening down- his mouth gaping wide at the same time.

 

  “hiiihh…eeehh… HUUH! UH!” his breath hitched desperately, before he exploded into a couple of sneezes. Aiming them right over his food, so he wouldn't sneeze on it.

“HUH'SHHHOOO'uh! ‘EECHSHIEW!!” 

Larry was dazed after those two sneezes, but the tickle refused to leave his nose. It was like it was trying to cling to the inside of his nose. He gave a small whimper, snuffling heavily through his twitching nose, breath starting to hitch yet again.

“Huuuhhh..snf hhhhh! HuuuuuhhHH! HUH'DSHIIEEW! SNF! hhhh! Hiiih! Hh'Dssh'uh! huuuh…guhhh HUH-G’DSHIIW!” Larry gave three wet sneezes, giving a groan afterwards- blinking open his eyes.

 

Finally, sweet relief from the tickle that was no longer plaguing his sinuses. He gave a snort and dared to take one hand off his turkey leg, so he could wipe his nose with the back of his paw. 

In doing so, movement from the floor caught his attention. His tail gave a curious flick as he squinted at the tiny thing. It was green.

“Is that a booger? Ew.” Larry huffed in disgust, before nearly jumping out of his skin in fright as something responded. 

 

“No! I'm Boog!” Boog responded to the cat as he grew to his 1 inch tall height, standing up and shaking out his fur. He was offering the cat a goofy smile.

“You were in my nose?” Larry asked in disbelief, now calmer at being able to see who was speaking, going back to squinting at the mouse. 

With a huff Larry got to his priorities, quickly scolding the mouse. “You almost made me drop my turkey! It nearly touched the floor!” He complained…though would have still eaten if it ...had...touched the floor…

“Oh, sorry!” Boog said in a friendly chuckle, tail swaying side to side. “I just wanted a nice warm spot, and well your nose was just the perfect place!” He ended in a giggle.

“Well… just don't do it again.” Larry grumbled, before his gaze drifted down to the turkey leg, licking his lips as a grin appeared on his face.

Boog's eyes also drifted to the food, prompting him to ask eagerly “can I have some?”

“nope!” Larry responded before lifting the turkey leg to his mouth to take a large bite,  walking off back to his bed in the living room.

[thetinyboio]

Welcome Home [Cult of The Lamb A.u]

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Prologue [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9]

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Thoth fidgeted a bit, feeling slightly self-conscious when the attention was turned back to them. "Oh, um... yeah," they stammered. "It's... well, I was born with a crescent moon shape on my hip, so my mother thought it was fitting. She said if I was named after a god, maybe one would bless me... silly, I guess." Thoth blushed and rubbed the back of their neck sheepishly.

Wally, still smiling warmly, reassured Thoth about their name. "It is a very good name! I think I remember you saying you're new to town, right? Well, if you'd like to stay, I know the neighborhood would love to have you." His words were genuine and kind. "I hope this accident hasn't made a bad impression, and I'm sorry if my first impression for you was a scary one... seeing me hooked up to all of this..." He weakly gestured toward the various monitors and medical equipment.

Thoth waved their hand in front of them dismissively. "No, no! Not at all. Honestly, as strange as it sounds... it's actually really refreshing to see the kinder side of the world. And I guess if we're trying to look on the bright side, it's really nice to see that the world isn't as dark as I once thought..." They smiled sweetly, grateful for the newfound sense of warmth and kindness they were experiencing.

Wally appreciated Thoth's perspective and offered his support in return. "That is good you found some kindness here. If you have any trouble here, please feel free to come to me. I can take care of it," he said with a friendly smile. Barnaby found Wally's offer a bit unusual, but he saw it as Wally just being his usual, kind-hearted self.

Poppy's warmth and enthusiasm were contagious, and she patted Thoth gently on the head, saying, "Wonderful! See, dear, making friends already." Thoth blushed, feeling a little flustered by all the attention they were receiving. They were more accustomed to trying to blend into the background and go unnoticed.

Just then, a doctor entered the room, and Wally was given the option to reschedule if it wasn't a good time. Wally shook his head, indicating that it was fine. The doctor and a few more medical staff came in to discuss Wally's prosthetic needs. Afterward, the doctor turned to Poppy and Thoth, seeking their permission to change Wally's bandages. Poppy nodded, and the curtain was drawn for privacy.

As the procedure began, Thoth looked over to Barnaby and took a sip of water. Barnaby took a seat next to Thoth, breaking the ice with a simple question.

"So, where ya from, kid?" Barnaby asked casually.

Thoth, caught off guard, spat out some water and coughed, surprised by the question.

Poppy rushed to their aid, providing towels and asking with concern, "Sorry, are you alright?"

Barnaby scratched the back of his head apologetically, realizing his timing had been less than ideal. "Sorry to ask while you were drinking, kid."

Thoth shook their head, still recovering. "No, no. I'm sorry. I— um. I'm from..." They hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a made-up place. "I'm from 'Nothere'..."

Barnaby pondered this for a moment. "Hmmm, I think I had a cousin who moved there at some point," he replied with a shrug, not pressing further.

Poppy continued to change Thoth's bandages, noticing the subtle difference in one of their injuries. She saw the band of missing fur and recognized it as a potential source of discomfort for Thoth. Understanding their timid nature, she didn't pry but exchanged a knowing look with Barnaby, silently communicating her concern.

Barnaby, with a warm and caring smile, shifted the conversation to a more uplifting topic. "Oh, by the way, kid, Poppy and I were talking last night. But when you get released, Poppy and I both have a spare room at our places, and if you want, you're welcome to stay with either one of us."

Poppy chimed in with her reassuring voice, emphasizing the importance of recovery. "We figured it would help you recover a little better not having to worry about where to live right after such a tragic event. You should rest and take all the time you need."

Thoth was taken aback by their offer, and tears welled up in their eyes. "Wait?... Really?..." They paused, their emotions bubbling over. "I can clean! I know how to make bread and can skin a chi—" Thoth stopped abruptly and rephrased their statement. "I can cook for you. I can do whatever you want with me. I can earn my keep. Please, I promise." Their eyes pleaded with sincerity. "I'm not lazy; I can work, I promise."

Poppy looked at Barnaby with concern, realizing Thoth was getting overly worked up. Barnaby reassured Thoth, saying, "Yeah, no need to worry, really. You've been through hell and back, it seems, so don't you worry your fuzzy little tail about it, okay?"

As the doctors left, Wally lay back on his bed, and the nurses covered him up. His usual optimistic smile returned as Poppy pulled the curtain back. "Sorry that took a bit," Wally explained. "They wanted to check on the progress of my leg healing and what to do for a new foot." His resilience was admirable, and despite the challenges he faced, he maintained a positive outlook.

Thoth quickly wiped away their tears, feeling a bit embarrassed by their emotional outburst. They turned their attention to Wally's mention of a new foot, finally noticing that he was missing one.

"Oh... I see," Thoth murmured, their gaze shifting to the empty space where Wally's foot should have been. They couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. "Did that hurt much?" Thoth asked, although the answer was painfully obvious.

Poppy, noticing the shift in the mood, stepped in to change the topic. "Oh dear, um... tell you two telling war stories, How about we get some fresh air for you both? Barnaby, come help me get them some wheelchairs."

Wally, with his usual easygoing attitude, replied, "I didn't really feel it, so I guess not really. Now, though, yeah, it probably hurts a lot." He looked down at his missing foot for a moment before relaxing, ready to be moved into a wheelchair. His resilience was truly remarkable.

Barnaby walked over to Thoth and asked, "You okay if I pick you up?" Thoth hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. Barnaby gently scooped them up and placed them in a wheelchair, while Poppy pushed Thoth and Barnaby pushed Wally.

As they were wheeled through the hospital, Thoth took the opportunity to observe their surroundings more closely. They marveled at the advanced medical tools and the bustling staff, much different from the few hospitals they had seen in the past.

"Is this a blue blood hospital?" Thoth inquired, their curiosity piqued. "There are so many staff, and the tools look much more advanced than the few I've seen before." They glanced up at Poppy and Barnaby as a doctor held the door open to the front garden for them.

“I wouldn't say a blue blood hospital but it is one of the more nice ones for the area 

they get wheeled to a nice spot near lots of pretty and colorful wildflowers”

Poppy expressed her deep appreciation for the ever-changing floral displays. "This is one of my more favorite spots here," she shared with a smile. "They change out the flowers when the seasons change! They always do such beautiful work!"

Barnaby, always eager to support his friends, made a promise to Wally. "Next time, I'll see if I can smuggle in some paint and paper for you," he said, winking playfully at Wally, who tried to return the gesture but ended up blinking instead. "We, uh... we can work on that," Barnaby added, giving Wally's head a gentle pat.

The beautiful scenery, the prospect of painting, and the support of their friends began to lift the spirits of Wally and Thoth as they enjoyed this moment of respite and tranquility amidst the vibrant wildflowers.

Thoth, now feeling more at ease in the company of their new friends, let out a small, genuine laugh. "Do you draw, Mr. Wally?" they asked, their eyes sparkling as they took in the beautiful scenery.

Barnaby, proud of his friend's artistic talents, chimed in with enthusiasm. "Wally here's the best artist I know! The guy can paint just about anything you put in front of him. What do they call it? Photographic memory?"

Poppy, always nurturing and supportive, nodded in agreement. "I could see if the hospital needs a new mural for the waiting room, Wally. Painting is wonderful therapy for the heart." She recognized the healing power of art and was eager to encourage Wally's creative expression.

Wally, now feeling a renewed sense of purpose and inspiration, looked at the flowers and the world around him with fresh eyes. The prospect of painting again brought a warm smile to his face, and he nodded in agreement with his friends.

Wally, feeling a sense of longing for his artistic pursuits, smiled at the idea of painting again. "Painting would be nice. Feels like it's been forever since I've painted," he remarked. His gaze drifted to his hands, which bore the evidence of recent injuries and healing. Despite the cuts and stitches, he found solace in the thought of capturing the beautiful scenery before him on canvas. He leaned back into the wheelchair, the faint creaking sound as it moved a testament to his newfound contentment.

Thoth, while gazing at the colorful wildflowers, shared a cherished memory from their childhood. "When I was a child, my mother and I, on our off days, would draw in the dirt together outside our home," they recalled with a hint of nostalgia. "She taught me how to spell that way... It was rare to teach in the area I grew up in... But she said it might be useful for me to know how to read..." Thoth's voice trailed off as they lost themselves in the memory, their eyes still fixed on the flowers. "...She was a good mother... She would have loved it here..." They spoke softly, their words filled with a mix of longing and fondness for their mother, who had left a lasting impact on their life.

Barnaby and Poppy exchanged concerned glances but decided not to say anything that might cause Thoth to close up again. Instead, they chose to let Thoth share at their own pace.

Wally, showing his natural empathy and curiosity, turned his attention to Thoth and asked, "What was your mother's name?" His question was gentle and kind, inviting Thoth to open up if they wished to share more about their mother.

[faint-petrichor]

after living in latam (specifically AR) for almost two years I'm starting to feel pretty at home here. like, I am still very much a USAmerican, but now and then I notice ways I've been changed by being here. usually it's small stuff, like differences in mannerisms or preferences, but my whole perspective has gradually been shifting too. I even feel a bit of pride when people talk about latin america now, probably just because I'm here and it's rubbing off on me.

I definitely have everyone I've made friends with to thank for being so vibrantly welcoming and inclusive in general–that alone was a huge culture shock to me when I got here. in a word, it's been nice, even with the challenges. I feel a lot of gratitude for getting to be here and a part of this place and for everyone who has been kind to me. it's been humbling to witness firsthand a place where people have fought so hard for everything they have and to see their pride in it, a world of a difference from the US. it seems like I'm going to live in this part of the world for the foreseeable future, so I'd really like to give back somehow if I ever can.

[amirrorcalledthemoon]

its alright, i guess. i know they're not like. venomous or anything. well technically they are, but their venom just doesn't effect humans because we're so much bigger than them. but they haven't really figured that out, so they just think im immortal.

it's really interesting, actually. they way they think. they only live for about a year, so they dont think of time the same way i do. there are stories from generations ago about when i was what I think they call a young god, but really, i was just a little kid. this was my grandparents house, but i was the only one who ever came up to the attic - my grandma hurt her knee on the sliding ladder ages ago, and my family was superstitious.

they're all gone, now. now there's just the spiders.

i try not to spend too much time with them. its not healthy, im sure. especially because at the end of the day i think they're really creepy. they're helpful, and the bits of their language ive come to understand are kind, irreverent when it's directed at me, but the feeling of the legs bothers me. sometimes i think i feel them under my skin. my doctor said something about serotonin overdose? but im pretty sure it's just the spiders.

home, they whisper to me when i enter the attic. there is a flurry of words, and i still barely speak their language. i wonder if they're saying welcome home. or maybe they're asking me to bless their home.

funnel webs fill the attic. they're amazingly elaborate structures, and they become more and more beautiful the smarter they get, the more they advance. i dream about what the insides of these tunnels look like sometimes - i wonder how much vermin they keep tied in there, bleeding dry.

"i found a rat." i tell them. ever since i realized what was going on, ive felt less and less like i know what im doing. i just do, and it just works. the rat in my hand squeals and writhes, and comparing it's fur to the sensitive spider hairs that crawl up my legs, it almost feels soft.

gift, they whisper. blessed.

i don't hear the rat's death throes over the skittering legs of the spiders that race to where ive dropped it. their whispers are gibberish to me.

=====

ive been trying to make friends since all of this started. i thought it was some hallucination at first, from me being so isolated. i met up with an old friend for coffee and ive tried to be friendlier at work. making friends at work is hard - sometimes i wonder if that's just a me thing though. everyone else seems to get on fine. but i also think everyone in their 20s feels that way.

its nice to be around people who you understand, though. whose faces shift to make expressions i can read. but when they look at me they always just look sad. it drives me insane.

the spiders don't feel bad for me. ive told them about my struggles. i get talkative when i drink, and there's been a few times i bought a nice bottle of wine from the farmers market and had no one to enjoy it with. so. spiders it is.

they don't get it, but that makes it easier to talk about, for some reason. they don't understand because they think im perfect, i think. how could a God be lonely? the pinnacle of perfection and beauty? modest and colorful as i am?

talking to them helps me put it into perspective. i get to put these thoughts into words. i still dont know what exactly they're saying in response to me. its still nice.

what, one whispers as it climbs the side of the wine bottle.

"ambrosia," i joke, though they have no idea why it's funny to me. they think me serious. so i pour the barest drop onto the attic floor, covered in those tight-knit spider webs. The wine collects in one droplet on the strands of web, a beautiful dark dew drop in the center of the spider's world.

finally, one is brave enough to crawl towards it. it's fangs make an almost wet clicking sound as they twitch, hesitating as it reaches towards the wine. it drinks it, slowly, and i watch.

it's first steps away from the red stained mark on the web make it drift to the side. the spiders start chittering, whispering, and the drunkard arachnid lies on the ground. it's legs curl inward as it dies, the alcohol filling its body and dulling its blood.

the others won't risk eating him. ambrosia, they whisper. blood of the God.

=====

they've begun to spread, now. the rest of the house is a wide world they haven't explored, that even i haven't really explored - there are so many dark corners of this place i don't touch anymore, and they collect dust. fill with cobwebs.

at first, the webs started reaching out of the hatch in the ceiling where i pull down the ladder. then they simply started popping up in new corners, budding like flowers before blooming into sprawling households of spiders.

they leave me pathways. they always have. i don't understand why they keep me around, why they accommodate for me, but ive come to accept that they just... do. and so the path from my bedroom to the bathroom is clear for me to do my morning routine. i start running the shower to let the water heat up. take a piss. brush my teeth. take my meds.

when i grab the bottle of sertraline, it doesn't rattle. im ready to see what's inside, accept that it's empty, try to plan when i can get back to the pharmacy.

but when i look in, i don't see white, oval shaped pills. the soft strands of the beginning of a funnel web paint the orange bottle, and alone at the bottom, there is a black shape, eight legs curled in as it lies dead. i swear i can feel those spider legs crawling over me. i tip the bottle back and feel the spider rattle out, not even catching on its strands of web.

ambrosia, i remember saying. and i find it funny. and the spider does not.

You realize you should’ve done something about the spiders in your attic before they multiplied, gained intelligence and started a civilization. Recently they started worshipping you as their deity.